


A Lannister's Empty Gold

by Clicker



Series: Lannister's Pride [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clicker/pseuds/Clicker
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Reader, Jon Snow/Reader
Series: Lannister's Pride [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752901
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

The tail of the great comet was visible through the window of Y/n’s bedchambers. The windy morning was something Lucia seemed to like. He tiny little fists remaining calm as she looked out the open window in Y/n’s arms. **  
**

She had only grown slightly more tan since she’d been born, and her dark grey eyes, seemed to only get even more grey. 

Lucia’s small sounds made Y/n smile. They were absentminded sounds, she had a theory that the infant made them to keep herself entertained. “It’s a beautiful morning for a tourney.” She spoke to the babe laying a soft kiss on the side of her head. The feeling of Luci’s soft brown hair against her lips made her smile. 

Miza had told her that she believed Y/n was becoming soft natured. That Luci broke down a wall Y/n hadn’t even realized was there. But she supposed it wasn’t true. Because around others, like Joffrey, or people of the court, she was still stone faced. Empty emotions. 

But for Joffrey, she held hate. He had a man killed, and it would surely make everything with the Starks and Lannisters worse. 

The knock on Y/n’s door caught her attention. She turned swiftly as Miza opened it to let the King in. He wore a breastplate over his red doublet, and a gold cape, with a red lion and stag sewn into the back of the collar. She should know. She stitched it for him. 

“Sister, we must speak, alone.” Joff told Y/n. She looked down to Luci, her curious eyes looking at Joffrey. Y/n nodded, walking to Miza and very carefully, cautious almost, handed Luci to her. “Take her to my lady mother. I’m sure she’d love to spend time with her.” She told the handmaiden, kissing Lucia’s head once again, eliciting a happy coo from her. 

With that, Miza left with the child, closing the door behind her. Leaving Joffrey and Y/n together in the stone room. 

“I don’t want Lucia at my tourney.” He spoke up, his posture straight as he stared his sister down, his green eyes meeting her own.

“What? Why?”

“For my own reasons. I couldn’t care less if she was a true born child or not. I don’t want her there.” 

“She’ll be going,” Y/n clenched her jaw “whether you like it, or not.” She was challenging him, she knew it. 

“No,” Joffrey spoke, “she won’t.”

“Tell me, why can’t my daughter go to a tourney? She’s a babe, she won’t cause trouble.”

Joffrey gave his sister a look, before turning to the closed door, locking it. That made Y/n blood run cold. Why would he lock the door?

“It’s my thirteenth name day.” Joff spoke, going off topic from his niece. “According to mother, I’m a man now.” 

Y/n scoffed. “What does that have to do with Lucia?” She demanded, but she changed her demeanor when he came so close to her she had to take a step back. She felt like prey being hunted. 

“You had one bastard, what’s another?” Joff questioned, his thumb touching the gold coronet that rested on her head. 

Y/n slapped his hand away, looking up at him with shock evident in her face. “What?” She hadn’t realized how close to the stone wall she was until Joffrey gave her a shove, pushing her against the wall. 

He trapped her against the wall, putting his chest against hers, his hands holding her cheeks. “For all the things the Targaryens did, their positive and negative influences, We can admire them for one thing,” He paused, noticing how Y/n’s chest was sporadically rising and falling, and a smirk came onto his face. “Blood purity.”

Y/n’s lips were in a thin line at this point as she made eye contact with Joffrey. “What do you want?” 

He turned her suddenly, to have her back against his chest, and he made her look out the window to morning sky. “Do you see that comet? They say it means I will triumph over our enemies, dear sister. I think they forgot something. I will triumph over our enemies, and I will have an heir, soon. Through you.”

Y/n felt nauseated, her freckled hands coming to his right arm, trying to push him off, but his grip only tightened. “This is madness, Joff. You don’t mean that.” She rushed in a panic to get out of his arms. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. The fear of being taken against her will make her feel overwhelmed. 

He rested his cheek on the side of her head, “This can go one of two ways, I take you like you’re my queen, or I can take you like the whore you seem to be.” He told her, a hand going flush against her now flat stomach. “You choose how you wish for my son to be conceived.” 

She closed her eyes for a split second remembering every moment with Jon, how he would never do this to her. How he touched her so gently, almost as if he was scared. Joffrey was’t. He didn’t care.

She lifted her foot, letting her heel come down on his toes. He yelped out in pain, letting her go in the moment. She took the opportunity to try and run to the door. She reached up to the bolt lock, her hand barely grabbing the latch before he came running up behind her, pulling her from the door, and shoving her onto the bed face first,

He placed himself firmly over her, shoving her skirts up to her waist. “Whore it is.” 

•••••

Y/n stared up at the ceiling. Stone. Red stone that was older than her. It was there before her, it would be there after. 

Her chest heaved, one side of her face stung, her throat was sore, and her finger tips ached. She hated him. She never thought she could hate someone so much. The only thing that even plucked an emotional cord in her, was seeing the scratch marks on his chest, the ones she left when she had been trying to push him away. A useless action that only waisted her energy. But the cord that had been plucked when she was it, was hate.

“I expect to see you at the tourney. I’ll allow Lucia to be there.” Joff said, leaning over her, “You weren’t being good, but maybe,” He spoke softly, helping her sit up. “If I allow you to do certain things, you will be.”

Y/n felt disgusted with herself. She could still feel him, everywhere. His hands forcing her down, the eventual way he’d grabbed her hair to make her stop fighting against him. 

She could still feel him, and she hated the feeling. The feeling of his seed inside of her. She prayed to not let it quicken. She’d only just had Jon’s daughter. She didn’t want another child, let alone her brother’s. 

“I’ll see you at the tourney.” Joff spoke, leaving the room to her, and not even a moment after he had left, she had gone to change her gown. She needed anything but this. Anything where the petticoat wouldn’t be stained with his seed. 

She changed into a blue gown, taking a handkerchief between her legs to rid herself of the stickiness. That was dripping down her legs. 

She composed herself, wiping the tears from her eyes, standing up straight like her mother had taught her, before she left the room to go to the tourney.


	2. Chapter 2

Y/n looked to her poor younger brother after Joffrey said for the knights to leave. She had been able to convince her mother to let Tommen ride against a man of straw. To at least let him feel as though he was included. He was a young boy, who eventually, would want to be a knight. Because he wouldn’t be king. Not as long as Joffrey lived. 

“I’m supposed to ride against the straw man.” Tommen objected, getting up and walking over next to Y/n. Her hand held his mid back gently, while the other arm held Lucia’s sleeping form in her arms. 

“No today.” Joffrey insisted

“But I want to ride!” 

“I don’t care what you want.” 

Y/n looked to Joffrey, her protective nature for her baby brother becoming clear, she grabbed onto Tommen’s doublet, and glared at Joffrey. An act of bravery on her part. She was still afraid of him. After the way he had defiled her just a few hours before. 

Joffrey gave her a grin, knowing she still lacked the bravery to say anything. She hadn’t since it happened.

“Mother said I could ride.”

“She said,” Myrcella agreed.

“Mother said,” King Joffrey mocked. “Don’t be childish.” 

Tommen came up close to Y/n, wrapping his chubby arms around her neck in an upset manner, searching for comfort. 

She held him close to her. She was the second motherly figure to her brother and sister. When their lady mother wasn’t around, they came to her. 

She embraced him so tightly with her free arm. “ _They_ are children.” Y/n declared. “They’re _supposed_ to be childish.” 

The Hound laughed. “She has you there.”

Joffrey looked as though his pride had been wounded. Beaten by a woman. “Very well. Even my brother couldn’t tilt any worse than these others. Master, bring out the quintain, Tommen wants to be a gnat.”

Tommen gasped out in joy and ran off be prepared. His legs carrying him as fast as they could. “Luck,” Sansa called out after him. 

Y/n wondered how Sansa had felt to see that they would both be sitting next to Joffrey. Neither of them had a choice in the matter. Sansa was his betrothed. Y/n was… She didn’t know what she was to Joffrey anymore. 

Y/n knew what the antlers on the helm of straw stuffed opponent represented. Renly Or perhaps Stannis. But her mind went to Renly. The uncle who had always gotten her something for her name day, without fail, every year. It was always something she had wanted too. Renly had been the kindest uncle to her. Stannis and Jaime, although Jaime was technically her father, they both always seemed distant. Tyrion… never seemed to have an ounce of love for her in his bones. Did she resemble her mother too much for his liking? She looked like her. Spoke in the same sort of voice, and often acted the same, although she hated it. Her mother’s words from when she was younger stuck with her. 

“Little Lion, you must fool them into thinking you are cold, stone hearted and hateful. You have to deceive them.”

When tommen had been buckled into his ornate silver and crimson armour, he’d climbed onto his pony with the help of Ser Aron Santagar, The Red Keep’s master-at-arms. 

He handed Tommen a blunted silver longsword. Clearly meant for mostly sparring. It was fitted to a child’s hand. 

Tommen raised the blade high. “Casterly Rock!” He shouted in his high boyish voice, digging his heels into his pony, and started across the hard packed dirt. 

Y/n laughed, and smiled, a real genuine smile and laugh at her Brother’s childishness. 

The Pony came to a trot, and Tommen waved his sword violently in the air, striking the straw dummy’s shield. The quintain spun, and gave prince Tommen a hearty whack in the back of his head. He fell from his saddle and onto the ground. There was laughter, but Joffrey laughed the hardest, and by far the longest. 

“Oh,” Myrcella cried out, she scrambled out of the box and ran to their little brother, Y/n stood, she didn’t rush to him, but waited for Myrcella’s okay. 

Joffrey and Sansa spoke as Y/n took a step forward, holding Lucia to her chest as protectively as she could. Lucia gave a small cough, and sneeze, before quieting down again, Her tiny chubby arms moving against her to finally sneak their way out of the blanket and rest on her mother’s chest, a tiny hand grabbing onto the hem of her dress. 

Y/n smiled even brighter when Myrcella went to help him up, He stood and looked to Y/n, a big smile on his face as he ran back to his pony, the knights helping him back up.

Y/n’s head turned at the sound of the gatehouse. Chains rattled, and the great gates opened with a creak of iron hinges. 

“Who told them to open the gate?” Joffrey demanded. With the troubles with the citizens of King’s Landing, the gates had been kept closed for many days. 

Joffrey stood and walked close up behind Y/n, resting a hand on the small of her back. She grew stiff, looking down at Lucia’s small face. Her grey eyes stared back at her curiously. 

Those eyes kept her calm. 

A ground of riders emerged with a clink of steel and clatter of hooves. Y/n was acutely aware that Sandor was close, hand on his longsword. 

They were Lannisters. They carried the standard of the golden Lannister lion on a crimson field. A small smile came onto her face upon seeing the standard. Feeling the power that came along with it. 

There were some Lannister men, some sellswords and freeriders, Some looked… strange.

Y/n could see their uncle in the midst. On top of a horse. He had let his facial hair grow out over his pushed in face. Down his back he wore a shadowskin cloak, black and white striped fur. 

Tommen came running on his pony, but one of the strange men scooped him off of the pony’s back and let him onto the ground next to Tyrion. 

Y/n smiled when Myrcella ran to them, being spun around by their short uncle, squealing accompanied with it. Tyrion placed a gentle kiss on Myrcella’s brow before waddling across the yard to them. 

He barely seemed to register that Y/n was there. Though she was happy he was alive. 

The dwarf went to one knee in front of Joff. “Your Grace.”

“You,” Said Joffrey.

“Me,” Tyrion agreed, “Although a more courteous greeting might be in order for an uncle and an elder.”

“They said you were dead,” the Hound said.

Tyrion gave the tall man a look. Y/n finally realized what they meant when they said his eyes were mismatched. One was green, the other black. “I was speaking to the king, not to his cur.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Said Myrcella.

“We share that view, sweet child.” Tyrion turned to look at Y/n now. Tommen having come to her side. He noted the secure hand on Y’m lower back, one she seemed very uncomfortable with. But, he saw the bundle of blankets in her arms, and then the small baby sounds coming from the silks. 

Y/n seemed to understand her misformed uncle’s curiosity. She positioned Luci at a certain angle so he could see her. 

Tyrion noticed the large smile Y/n adorned. The pride she held when she looked showed him the child. “Yours?” But he already knew. The baby looked like her. 

Y/n nodded happily, “Lucia.” 

Tyrion let a small smile come onto his face as he looked at the curious little girl. Her big brown eyes stared directly at him. No wavering. She knew what she was looking at. 

The Imp knew, he could put it together quickly. The in between pale and tan skin, with grey eyes and dark brown hair.

“May I?” Tyrion questioned, holding a hand up to touch the child, but hesitating, remembering how fiercely protective Cersei had been over Y/n when she first had her. 

Y/n nodded, moving the silk away from her daughter’s face a bit more. He let a gently thumb touch the chubby cheeks of the baby, and she smiled at him. 

He would swear that she was the first child to ever smile at him. She grabbed his finger with her hand and examined it. 

“A beautiful girl.”

“Thank you.” Y/n glowed, standing back up, feeling Joffrey pull her into his side, she was reminded of the situation of their relationship was once again. 

Tyrion noticed the shift in demeanor, but pushed it aside, looking to Sansa. “My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly the gods are cruel.”

Y/n found it to be a joke. The gods never had to even forgive Ned Stark for any crimes. Not when he spoke the truth. Not when he knew that they were truly Jaime’s bastards, raised under the Baratheon name. 

“I am sorry for your loss as well, Joffrey,” the dwarf said.

“What loss?”

Had he truly forgotten?

“Your royal father? A large fierce man with a black bear; you’ll recall him if you try. He was king before you.”

“Oh, him. Yes, it was very sad, a boar killed him.”

“Is that what ‘they’ say, Your Grace?”

Y/n felt Joffrey’s grip on her grow tighter, but his thumb rubbed gentle circles into her side, a sick way to soothe her anxiety over the situation. Even more sick, it worked, she leaned into his side now, head resting on his shoulder.

Maybe it was all those years they’d spent being so close as brother and sister that were so ingrained into her mind, that she still wanted to be like that. She just wanted to be his sister, and not some sick, greedy way for him to get an heir before he could be married. 

“I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

“A great many people are sorry for that,” Tyrion replied, “and before I am done, some may be a deal sorrier… yet I thank you for the sentiment. Joffrey, where might I find your mother?”

“She’s with my council,” He answered. “Your brother Jaime keeps losing battles.” Joffrey gave Sansa an angry look, though it were her fault. “He’s been taken by the Starks and we’ve lost Riverrun and now her stupid brother is calling himself a king.”

Tyrion gave a crooked smile “All sorts of people are calling themselves kings these days.”

You smiled a bit at the subtle jab to the king. 

“Yes. Well. I am pleased you’re not dead, Uncle. Did you bring me a gift for my name day?”

“I did. My wits.” 

Y/n’s smile was now directed at Tyrion, and when he looked up at his young niece, he was taken aback. This was the first day since she was very young that he’d seen an actual happy smile come from her. Sincerity.

“I’d sooner have Robb Stark’s head,” Joff said with yet another glance at Sansa. “Come along, sister.” Joffrey pulled Y/n with him to leave, and Y/n gestured for Myrcella and Tommen to follow along. Leaving the poor Stark girl alone with their uncle and the strange men. 

But, Y/n did take note of the one man, a long sword at his hip. He had dark hair and eyes, and a light stubble of a beard. He looked like a sellsword. 

**ΩΩΩ**

Joffrey looked to Y/n. An empty glance before he gave a nodding gesture in Miza’s direction.

Y/n knew what he meant, and she didn’t like it. A hesitant look to her handmaiden she walked over to her, handing the tiny bundle over to her. The pink silks contrasting her skin. “Take her to my mother, or to Myrcella and Tommen. Any one of them would like to spend time with her.” 

Miza nodded, and looked at Joffrey suspiciously. This was the second time in one day that Joffrey had told the young mother to give the newborn to Miza, to be brought to another family member. 

But Miza took the baby, and left, as she was bid to do. 

Joffrey came up behind Y/n, grabbing her hand and pulled her away to her bed chambers. 

She tried to walk as slowly as possible. She didn’t want this to happen. Not again. She didn’t want him trying to have an heir with her. Though she was certain that it wasn’t just the want for an heir. This was something he’d wanted to do for a while. She could tell by the way he looked at her. It had been something he thought about.

The room was warm, with that awful smell she’d been acquainted with when she had laid with Jon Snow almost every night for two fortnights. It lingered. Soaked up in the wool sheets and pillows. The very spot it’s taken place in. 

Joffrey let her hand go, letting her walk into the room ahead of him. Awkwardly standing near Lucia’s bassinet. 

Lucia always looked so calm when she slept in her bassinet. Peaceful looking up at the lions and stags carved of wood that hung above her. A gift, from Joffrey. For Lucia’s birth. Or maybe it had a different meaning for Joff. But for Y/n, it was for Luci’s birth.

She heard the door close and lock behind Joffrey. Before his legs carried him up behind her. His unnaturally gentle hands moving her hair out of the way to undo the ties of her dress. 

“We have more time now,” Joff whispered in her ear, “I can do whatever I like.” He got her dress unlaced, and put his lust filled hands through the opening of the back of her dress, placing a firm hand on her stomach, pulling her back into him. He slipped her dress down, onto the ground, letting it pool around her ankles. Her petticoat seeming to be a nuisance to him as he tugged at it, not able to get out from under her corset. 

She tugged at the sleeves of her shift nervously. She hated this. She reached to the top of her breasts, pulling the ties out from between the stiff corset and her tunic, begrudgingly undoing the laces, letting it fall onto the ground. 

“Hm,” Joff hummed resting his chin on the back of her shoulder. “Even in your underclothes, you look beautiful. Far more beautiful than Sansa Stark could ever look, even fully clothed.”

An overwhelming rage overcame her when he spoke in such a foul way about the younger girl. She turned to face him, her small hand coming in contact with his cheek with a loud, smack!

Joff stumbled back a step, before looking up at her again, “hit me again, see what happens.” He threatened. 

She only gave him half of a smile and turned back around. Not long after he had her completely undressed and on the bed. A bed she no longer felt safe sleeping in. A bed she no longer wanted to be in, ever. 

He was hovering above her, just as naked as her, moving in and out of her sloppily. His youth showing far more than it had his entire life. 

The princess tried to pretend she was back at Winterfell, that this was Jon, she tried to fool herself into seeing dark grey eyes and tan skin, a harsh, but loving voice talking to her.

Joffrey never spoke, he only let out low grunts, with overly soft hands digging into her hips unnecessarily. 

Y/n closed her eyes, she didn’t want to be here, underneath him with nothing to look at but him or the ceiling, or the canopy of gold chiffon. 

Y/n felt one of his hands leave her hips and disappear from her body, his gentle rocking continuing to go on, even when she yelped out in pain when she felt something on her bare chest. Her eyes flew open to look at her chest, seeing Joffrey cutting her with the golden knife their uncle had once gifted her. 

He pulled his hand away from her chest, throwing the knife onto the sheet, dipping his head down to the cut. 

She could feel his lips on the cut, and she could have sworn she felt his tongue lapping at the blood that streamed steadily, trying to get over her shoulder and soak into the sheets. 

She flinched every time he touched it, the sensitivity to her already sore breasts was unbelievable. 

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears, and she let them stream down her face as he continued, his movements becoming far more sloppy than before. The chaotic, harsh movements she was sure was bruising her soft pale skin was almost aggravating. 

With one last, brutal thrust he released inside of her, and they both hoped for very opposite results. Joff wished for a child, for his own selfish dreams he’d had since he was young, and Y/n wished for nothing to come of it. She wished only for this to end. For someone to walk in and tell their mother. If their mother knew, she’d put a stop to it. But she couldn’t tell Cersei. She just couldn’t. 

Joffrey collapsed on top of her unceremoniously, breathing next to her ear. But he turned to lay on his side, pulling Y/n with him for the hundredth time that day. 

Y/n wanted to pull away from him, but instead she curled up into his chest, seeking some demented kind of comfort from him.

The blood from her chest rolled down onto the sheets, soaking into the wool. But Joffrey held onto her, and tried to calm her crying, but it wouldn’t end. Until there came a knock at the door. 

Joffrey bolted up from his position, quickly throwing a blanket over Y/n’s body and getting himself dressed as hastially as possible. 

The king looked back to Y/n, and smiled at the work he deemed as good. He unlocked the door and opened it to reveal Miza there, empty handed. She’d given Lucia over to Cersei who seemed to be in a very heated argument with the Imp. But the presence of her granddaughter had calmed her in a strange sense. 

Joff smiled smugly at the handmaid and friend of his older sister before he pushed past her. 

Miza’s concern got the best of her, and she came into the room when she heard the quiet sobs coming from the princess. She could see that she was naked from the chest down. The shift she slept in had been stripped of her body, and there was blood all over her right breast and soaked into the blankets around her. 

Miza grabbed one of the small silk blankets from the end of the bed and came to Y/ns side, helping her sit up before wrapping her in the soft silk. 

Miza didn’t need to ask what happened. She knew. 

But she asked anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Y/n couldn’t describe such a love so intense to anyone. The love that made your heartache whenever you weren’t near them. The love that had many underlying emotions for the people behind it.

This intense love, was for her child. The child that was growing everyday. And she couldn’t stand to be away from her for more than an hour, even if she knew who she was with. Lucia was the light in Y/n’s life. And the many underlying emotions were for the child’s father.

Y/n was grateful, and so in love. She was grateful to him for having her fall pregnant with his daughter. And she was so in love with him, for just being him.

Lucia had his hair and eyes, and her skin was a perfect mix of two of them. A carmel color of tan, and she was developing Y/n’s intense freckles on her cheeks and nose and forehead.

The sun from the godswood gave her these freckles, and it kissed Luci’s skin.

“A coat of gold, or a coat of red, a lion still has claws,.” Y/n sang to Luci, holding her tightly against her chest.

“And mine, are long and sharp, My Lord, As long and sharp as yours-”

“Your Highness!”

Y/n turned abruptly, looking to see Miza walking over hastily, Holding something under her coat that she wanted to keep discreet. 

“Miza-”

“Hush now, They mustn’t hear you, the little birds.” Miza warned, transferring what she she had under her coat under to Y/n’s.

Y/n knew the handle. One of Joffrey’s swords. He had many that he never used, but Y/n was certain he’d know it was missing. And of course he’d blame her, she’d been in his rooms only last night.

“Miza!” Y/n chastised, giving the handmaiden a look that told the dark haired girl she was ludicrous.

“Just give me Lucia, One of the men your uncle came here with wants to see you, under the castle, where the Targaryen artifacts are kept.”

Y/n could feel Luci being taken from her arms, but she nodded and went to the bottom of the castle.

It was never lit with sunlight, only ever firelight. Fitting for the Targaryen kings and queens whose words were ‘Fire and Blood’

She couldn’t see anyone when she walked in, only a couple of dragon skulls and things that had been in the throne room before Robert’s reign, and of course, the darkness that loomed ahead.

“Highness.” A man said from the corner. She jumped, a tight grip on the hilt of the sword she carried.

“Who are you?” She demanded, she knew him, she’d seen him with her uncle at the tourney.

“Your uncle did warn me about you. I do believe he said ‘Always suspicious of everyone.” He teased.

“You have to be in times like these. Who are you?” Y/n demanded once more.

The man smiled, his dark hair and eyes looking completely black in this lighting.

“I’m Bronn, A sellsword-”

“I figure that much at the tourney,” She interrupted “Why am I here?”

He smiled at that unsheathing his sword and holding it up. “Tyrion wants you trained. In sword fighting. He thinks it could be useful for you.”

Y/n smiled at that, Tyrion didn’t know? He didn’t already know that her other uncle who doubled as her father had taught her how to fight?

Y/n pulled the sword from under her coat, showing off the blade. “Why’s that?” She questioned.

Bronn shrugged, “don’t know, don’t care.” He told her, “you want to hold the sword like-”

She cut him off, knocking his sword out of his hand and kicking him against to wall to hold her sword against his neck. “The only person who will ever teach me to fight will be my father, Jaime of the House Lannister.” She told him, dropping the sword to the dirt next to his feet. “I know how to fight, I don’t need you to teach me.” She ended it by by kicking in the back of his knee to make him fall.

She left, leaving the sword with him. 

••••

Y/n fed Lucia, Miza next to her, putting together the moon tea Y/n had requested. Miza was good at sneaking around, far better than Y/n was. Miza had been able to sneak into Maester Pycelle’s store and steal the ingredients.

“Here, drink this.” Miza told Y/n, holding the cup up to Y/n’s lips, so she didn’t have to take her arms off of Lucia, so she wouldn’t be able to slip from the princess’s grip.

Y/n drank from it happily. Not wanting to carry a child. It was gone within seconds. The stench was unpleasant, but not foul.

“You should tell your mother, surly she’d be able to tell him to stop-”

Miza stopped speaking when Y/n looked at her. Knowing the look well. “I can’t. Joffrey won’t care. He’ll continue to do as he likes, even if that means taking me against my will to selfishly have a child, a son.”

Miza sighed and looked to the stone. She knew this of course, but she’d had hopes that she could get Y/n to tell someone, Tyrion had no fears about hitting Joffrey, Miza was sure he still didn’t, even if Joffrey could get him killed.

“I’ll be fine. He won’t be able to continue with this once he’s married. He’ll have to have an heir with Sansa, not me. I pity the poor girl,” Y/n spoke as Lucia detached from her breast. “she doesn’t deserve to be treated so horribly just for the truth that Ned Stark spoke.”

Y/n pulled the sleeve of her dress back on and with a smooth cloth, wipe the excess milk from Lucia’s chin and lips.

“A messy eater. You are your father’s daughter.” Y/n told Lucia with a fond smile on her face. Jon Snow hadn’t been very careful about his eating habits. He had a tendency to either pick at his food or shovel it into his mouth, Lucia did the same. EIther barely drinking, or drinking for so long that Y/n’s arms became pins and needles.

A knock sounded at the door, but before Miza could stand up and get it, Joffrey had let himself in. Y/n and Miza had both quickly stood, upon him entering.

He looked very pleased with himself, a broad smile on his face as he carried a small chest in hand. A very square one.

“Hand Lucia over to Miza.” He said gesturing the child Y/n held. She sighed, handing Luci over to the dark haired handmaiden who happily took her, but unhappily left the princess alone with the king.

“Come, in front of the mirror.” He ushered, almost in a jumpy giddiness, standing next to the full body tilting mirror that Y/n possessed in her room.

Y/n stepped in front of the mirror, eerily looking at herself in it. She still looked like a princess, the same hair, eyes and face as before, every freckle still in its place, but she didn’t recognize her own reflection.

“Close your eyes.” Joff told her. So she did. He was the king, she had to listen to him. So she closed her eyes, and could hear the lovely wooden box being open and closed.

Something was put upon her head, his hands slipped to her shoulders and then her hips. “Open.” He told her, 

When she did, she saw herself once more, with a golden coronet on top of her head. It was gold with raw amethyst stones.

“I can’t wear this,” Y/n told Joffrey “This is fit for a queen. Save it for Sansa.” She reached up to take it off but Joff grabbed her hands.

“She is to be my wife, but you will be my queen. The mother of my children, my most trusted advisor, and once I can do away with our grandfather as my hand, you will wear that damned broach.” He spoke, kissing her shoulder. “For our son, we shall name him Loren, for the Lannister king of the rock.”

“A fine name, but what if I have a girl?” Y/n challenged, looking at him in the mirror with her signature, empty expression.

“You won’t.” Joff confirmed. But Y/n knew better than him, that they couldn’t ever choose what a child would be. And Y/n knew that she wouldn’t give him a child if she kept drinking moon tea. “You are my queen, and I would do anything for you.”

With that, Joffrey kissed her temple before leaving. It was just her in the room. A golden crown on her head. It was heavy, the amethyst weighing down the usually light weight gold.

Had he had it made for her? Or was it from a vault of premade crowns? Had it been her mothers? No, Cersei only ever wore rubies, diamonds or emeralds. This had been made specifically for her. Amethysts and everything.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon didn’t know what to do when he saw the necklace the princess had left on his bedside table. But his emotions had gotten the best of him. Tears had been brought to his cheeks when he turned in bed to see that her bare back wasn’t facing him.

Y/n seemed to have liked her space when sleeping. They’d be so close when they fell asleep, and when they woke, only their hands would be connected with her close to falling off the bed. But she never did. She found the slim line to balance on, like a dancer, but this was a dance between getting close to someone she barely knew, and keeping to herself.

He hadn’t expected himself to fall in love with the younger girl. But he realized it one night, when she’d touched him so lightly it felt like feathers.

He’d cried so violently that morning he swore he should have lost his voice. On their way to the wall, it was gentler, yet, it still seemed to disturb his Uncle Benjen, and the imp, Tyrion Lannister.

They asked him, but all he had told them was he missed his brothers and sisters. That was true, but it wasn’t why he cried. This was what he wanted. Right?

Benjen didn’t seem to fall for it. But he’d let it slide. And Jon was certain that Y/n uncle had seen him with the necklace. But neither of them seemed to acknowledge it.

Jon sighed, looking at the gold antlers in his hands. Her brother was the king now. He hoped that she was coping well with her father’s death, the gods knew that Jon wasn’t. He had to separate from Y/n, then Benjen and now, his father died, and his brother had joined a war. One Jon was willing to leave the Night’s Watch for. Sam and the rest of his close brother’s in black convinced him otherwise.

Jon pulled the chain back over his head, tucking it under his doublet, looking to Ghost, who had been very fond of the southern girl. The white direwolf gave a small whine. “I miss her too.” Jon told his wolf, a sad expression on his face as he stood. He’d been given one small letter that Lord Commander Mormont had said was within his Uncle Benjen’s things. Yet, it was addressed to Jon. It was from down south. A strange sigil on it. Not of any house that Maester Luwin tried to teach him the sigil or words on.

Jon picked the letter up from a small table that was in his room, Another small piece of paper next to it, this time, the seal unbroken. The seal had already been broken, if it was Benjen or Mormont, he didn’t know.

He unfolded it, exposing the dried ink to his cold room.

To Jon Snow, a brother of The Night’s Watch

_Princess Y/n Baratheon does not know I have written this to you. She is afraid, and doesn’t know how to approach this situation. From the many nights you spent in each other’s presence, it appears as if your seed has quickened, as she has fallen pregnant._

Jon felt his heart stop. How long ago was this written? Did she not drink moon tea like she’d said she would? He had an abnormal amount of questions swimming through his head. The worst one being- Had she drank moon tea after finding out? Had his child never been born? Or had she kept the child breathing? A small part of him hoped she did let the child live.

_I have been in Princess Y/n’s service for a very long time, I have never seen her so afraid. But even now, it is not for herself, but for the child she carries. I believe she loves you, and already loves your child. I fear for her. And for you. But as long as you stay at Castle Black, you will remain safe. I thought it was best if you knew. I will update you, hopefully soon. -Miza Sand_

Jon set the paper down onto the table, his bones stiff from shock, but he picked up the other rolled up paper being taken aback by the strange weight in it. Tilting it to the side he caught an ornately designed locket. Placing the paper on the table he opened the locket, and a teary eyes smile came to his face. It was a small portrait, of a small infant in red silks, with a white silk blanket loosely around them as a faceless woman held them. He didn’t need to be told it was his child. That the tan skinned and grey eyed infant was his. Picking up the letter he read it quickly

Princess Y/n of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister’s bastard daughter, Lucia Waters, aged two months.

Jon had never been around many babies, Catelyn always kept her newborn children far away from him. The idea that he had a baby of his own blood shook him to his very core. And the portrait made her look beautiful, if that was even possible for a baby.

“Lucia” He whispered, He would give everything in this very moment just to hold her. He was only fifteen, and he would do absolutely anything for Lucia.

He’d missed her birth and Jon knew that he’d miss everything else. Her first words and steps, Jon would never see her grow. He supposed he was overwhelmed.

Had Benjen or Mormont kept this from him? No, Mormont would have told him. Would Benjen have told him?

Jon supposed not. All of the thoughts going through his head made him want to cry. He got a necklace and a locket, she got a child. It was unfair on both of their parts. He’d left her with a child, without much of a care for her future. And she hadn’t told him. He had to find out through her handmaiden. It was unfair to their daughter. She had to grow up without a father. But children needed a mother more didn’t they? Either way, Lucia had gotten the shortest stick out of them all.

The gods were cruel.


	5. Chapter 5

“How is your sister, Miza?” Y/n asked, pinning Myrcella’s hair into place, spreading the loose curly waves across the younger girl’s back.

“Which one?” Miza chuckled, dressing Lucia in a chiemsee she would grow into fully within a few months.

“Your twin.” Y/n laughed, before tying together the ribbon that held Myrcella’s ruby pendant up. Two very different styles. Myrcella just asked for a simple pendant so she could put it on her ribbon. Y/n chose a more complex pendant, to be put on a chain.

“Oh, her.” Miza spoke with a small amount of amusement in her voice. “Probably off being jealous of Tyene.” She joked.

Y/n laughed at that again “Oh hush, I’m sure Tyene doesn’t mean to be a stuck up little bit-”

“Hey! Only I’m allowed to say that!” Miza interrupted, throwing a bundle of cloth at Y/n’s head while laughing, making Myrcella erupt into laughter as well when the cloth hit Y/n’s head.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Thought you didn’t quite like Tyene?” Y/n iquired, pushing Myrcella up to go check herself in the mirror. “With all the complaining you’ve done about her?”

Miza shook her head, giving Lucia a kiss on the forehead before handing her over to her mother. Y/n took her with ease, cradling her head as gently as possible, smoothing out the dark brown hair.

“Oh no, Sarella is much worse! She used to be so jealous of Tyene and our cousin. Tyene and Adrienne once tried to ride off so Adrienne could marry Willas Tyrell!”

Y/n shook her head. “Isn’t he the lame one? Hurt leg if I’m not mistaken?”

Miza nodded, cleaning up a few of the small things in the room. In Dorne, Miza would be a lady of the court. But here, with her status as a bastard, she was reduced to a handmaiden. But yet, still, she found joy in being in the capital.

“That’s the one. Our father stopped them of course, and Obara scolded them once they returned. So did Nymeria. Sarella seemed very pleased with that.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, looking to Tommen who was at the corner of Y/n’s room, reading a book she’d given to him to read.

“Tommen, I expect you to scold Myrcella if she ever tries to elope with some random man she’s never met.”

“I’m sure you’ll do most of the scolding, Y/n” Tommen commented, looking up from the book. “You and mother will scold her to death.”

Y/n gave the chubby little boy a playful glare, before pulling Myrcella to her side. “You ever try that and I’ll lock you up with Obara Sand so she can scold you.”

Myrcella giggled and went to the dressing stand playing with the containers of smashed berries that Miza and Y/n had worked on perfecting to be the perfect shade for Y/n’s lips when she chose to go to court.

“Can I try some?” Myrcella questioned dipping her finger into the raspberry-colored liquid.

“Sure, but use the mirror. I don’t want it staining your face. Mother will kill me. Be sure not to get it on your dress. She’ll kill me for that too.” Y/n told her, turning back to Miza before speaking again. “How long has it been since you’ve seen Sarella? I know you keep in contact with most of your sisters.”

Miza shrugged, going to Y/n’s wardrobe to find her an appropriate dress for the day. “I believe I last saw her when Loreza was born, pretty sure she’s been stalking the streets of Oldtown since then.”

Y/n nodded, with a small smile on her face as she rocked the infant girl. “How is Loreza? I hear she looks more beautiful with every day that passes.”

Miza nodded, “Not much like either of her parents. Our father may have been a handsome young man at some point in the distant past. And Ellaria… well, she’s attractive to most men, but I wouldn’t say the most beautiful. But their daughters seem to be coming out as beautiful as any other dornish woman.

Y/n nodded, setting Lucia down on the bed when Miza pulled out a red gown for her to wear for the day. “All of us but Tyene have our father’s eyes. She turned out fair-skinned with blonde hair and blue eyes. The beautiful one by most standards.”

“I think you’re beautiful. Dark hair, darker skin than mine, and such dark eyes, to many of the men of the court you’re a sight to behold.”

Miza shook her head. “None of the men here would ever marry me. I’m a bastard. I would only ever be taken on as a paramour by some high lord in Dorne.”

“I bet some of the men at court think of you.” Y/n teased as Miza ushered Tommen out of the room so she could help Y/n dress.

“Oh please!” Miza laughed, helping Y/n into the dress, making sure her chiemsee wouldn’t show through.

“I’m serious! Some of the men have had to think about you in the most compromising positions known to the filthiest of men!”

“So… like your uncle?”

Y/n burst into a fit of laughter, causing a look of confusion as Lucia turned her head awkwardly to get a good look at her mother’s outburst.

Miza laughed with her, having trouble fully tying the dress up, having to take a moment to rest her head on Y/n’s upper back to stabilize herself to continue with the dress. But when she was done, Tommen burst through the door, only holding the backing of the book.

“Sister! Sister! I just heard the worst thing!” He said, nearly breaking down into full sobbing.  
This caught all of the girl’s attention. Even Lucia tilted her head back to get an upside-down look at her uncle.

“Tommen? What’s wrong?” But he dropped the book and ran over, throwing himself into Y/n’s arms.

“A- knight,” he cried, “said that he killed one of father’s bastards-” Tommen sobbed into her skirts.

“Who? Which knight was it?” Y/n demanded, pulling Tommen from her skirts to get a good look at him. His red, puffy eyes broke her heart, and even more so when Myrcella came over to comfort him.

“Ser Janos! It was Ser Janos Slynt!” Tommen cried as Myrcella took him into her arms.

Adrenaline pumped into Y/n’s veins at the sudden information and accusation against the man Lord Baelish had brought into the crown’s service.

Y/n picked up her skirts, walking out of her bedchambers, Miza picking up Lucia and following after her. Knowing it was best to make sure Y/n didn’t get into a sudden brawl with a knight in the middle of the halls.

It was true that Y/n would certainly win the brawl and put the commander of the city watch to shame that he had been beaten by a thirteen almost fourteen year old girl who’d been weakened recently by having a baby.

“Ser Janos!” Y/n demanded seeing the back of the stout man’s head. “I must have a word with you!”

The knight stopped dead in his tracks and turned to see the oldest princess marching towards him with such a determination that he felt his heart beat falter for a moment.

“Your Highness-”

“No. No titles will be spoken in this encounter, I will ask questions and you will answer all of them truthfully, no mind games will be played.” She told him, her voice unwavering, and the stewards and handmaiden who’d been in the hall stopped, watching the princess and the knight’s encounter.

“Yes, your hi- yes, Y/n.” Janos stopped himself.

“Did you kill a child today?”

He wavered for a moment, stumbling over his words as he struggled to find the right ones. “Yes- yes, I did.”

“How old was this child when you ripped them from their mother’s arms?” She demanded.

“A year, we killed her mother as well.”

Y/n clenched her jaw knowing who gave the order. “Did the king tell you to do such a thing? To kill an infant still and their mother’s breast?”

Janos Slynt gave a hesitant nod, and could have sworn he heard Y/n growl, before going to walk past him. But she stopped and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “I’m going to ruin your whole life, every accomplishment, everything you’ve ever been proud of. I’m about to take it all away from you.” She leaned back, a knowing smirk on her face as Janos looked horrified. “Get a good night’s sleep. I’m sure you’ll need it.”

••••

“Dear niece, to what do I owe the pleasure?” The imp stood from his seat, and rounded the table, looking at Y/n, the handmaiden and the infant girl with his mismatched eyes.

Y/n looked to Bronn, disregarding his presence, but she looked to the younger boy, around her age, with thin hair and a quiet demeanor. “You two, leave.” She spoke, now looking to Bronn as he looked to Tyrion in shock at how she presented herself.

“Y/n, whatever you have to say to me, you can say to them as well. Podrick is my squire, and Bronn is a trusted friend.”

Y/n scoffed when he said ‘squire’ “You’re not a knight, what do you need a squire for?” She questioned but before he could answer she looked to the boy “Do yourself a favor if you ever want to be a knight, find someone who will teach you to be one. Unlike my uncle.”

Bronn stifled a chuckle, and Tyrion gave him a look before reassuring the squire that he was fine.

“Y/n, please, tell me, what’s bothering you?”

“I want Janos Slynt out of the city. Stripped of all titles and lands. Sent to the wall to die one day.” She demanded. To most she was acting like a stuck up child. But this wasn’t an order from a spoiled little girl. This was a request from a girl who didn’t want child killers near her own child. Near her siblings.

“Oh? What has brought this on?” Tyrion questioned gesturing for her to sit in a chair that had been set in front of his desk.

Instead she gestured for Miza to sit down in the chair, so she could continue to make her points without being looked down upon for her age.

“My brother, the king, ordered for Janos to kill one of Robert’s bastards. And her mother. I know you uncle, better than you think. I know that you want to take power from my mother. And personally, and fortunately for you, she and I are not on the best of terms. You want to take it from her? Take those who are loyal to her and Baelish and replace them with your own men. Start with the awful ones. Like Janos. Certainly we cannot have a baby killer in a castle where the king one day hopes for his heir to be raised.”

Tyrion was taken aback by this, and he stared up at her emerald eyes, matching his one green eye. “I… I will see what can be done.” He stated, only to be grabbed harshly by the collar by her.

“I want him gone. For both of our best interests. I made a promise to him I would destroy his life. I keep my promises.” She told him, letting him go. “By the end of the fortnight I expect for him to be on his way to Castle Black, East Watch or Shadow Tower. Is that understood?”

Tyrion nodded urgently, and Y/n turned to leave, Miza hot on her heels with a babbling Lucia in her arms. But he spoke “I do wonder why Joffrey decided for my father to be his hand. You ought to be.”

Y/n turned back to her uncle and smiled at him, a true smile, with a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Officially, grandfather is his hand. Unofficially, I am. Among other unofficial things.”


	6. Chapter 6

Tyrion was visibly startled when he walked into the hand’s office quarters, only to be greeted with the angered face of his almost fourteen year old niece.

“What are you doing here? Varys said you were in your bedchambers.” Tyrion had thought he’d seen a single moment when Varys was wrong. But, this seemed to be one.

“Varys knows very little about me. Let alone where I am.” She said smugly, tilting her head as she looked at the dwarf. “What was the little thing I had heard from Pycelle? Oh! That’s right! Myrcella is going off to marry Trystane Martell?”

Tyrion didn’t think that the news would reach Y/n so quickly. Had Pycelle told her before he told Cersei? Tyrion knew that many of the ladies of the court were loyal to Y/n, despite how little they knew her, but she had been indiscribley nice to them as of late. Perhaps one of them had told her.

No. . . She said she heard it from Pycelle. Either way, she wouldn’t believe the insidious rumors that swept through King’s Landing through the mouth of a Lady of the court.

“Y/n, It’s for the best gain for us, the best to get troops on our side-”

“I don’t care!” Y/n’s voice bellowed through the stone room. “Myrcella is my only sister! She is nine, you will not marry her to a Martell!” She pushed herself from the seat when Tyrion walked to his desk, grabbing a canister of red wine, pouring two glasses for the both of them, but he was greeted with her hand snatching it from him.

Tyrion was going to stop her, but only stared in shock when she threw it out of the window. They both heard the crash and scream from a bedmaid below.

“Y/n you no longer have a say!” Tyrion told her.

“I have more power over Joffrey than you or Mother does. I can tell him to stop the marriage. Don’t you dare doubt me!”

Y/n had a fiery hate for the imp in front of her now. Varys had his little birds, and Varys told his secrets to Tyrion. Y/n was just good at outwitting people. She’d learned it from Cersei and Tywin. She learned to get information just by watching people. And when she had to, she used intimidation.

“If we call off this engagement then we risk making Martells our enemies again. I would have made the marriage be between you two, but, you’re no longer a maid, and… the rumors of your relationship with your brother are persisting.”

That only angered Y/n more. But she kept it under wraps. Instead, taking a deep calming breath.

“My dear uncle, I hope you remember that Joffrey forced himself on me, that then and now, I have no choice. He believes he loves me, and this is the one thing I cannot change. It is not a relationship.”

Tyrion nodded, looking at the medal shoulder piece. Strange, he thought. She’s never worn metal work like that before. A red silk piece came off of it, flowing down to the hem of her skirts.

Tyrion scowled up at her, “Why haven’t you told your mother? Surely she would have put a stop to this.” He watched how fearful she seemed to be, how her hands rested in front of her.

“Do you like what he does to you?” The suggestion of it made Y/n’s stomach churn. She didn’t know how she felt about her brother anymore. She didn’t know how she felt about him questioning her about the missing Stark girl, or the crown he’d given her.

She only turned on her heel, leaving the room. But she didn’t expect herself to be barging into the king’s royal bed chambers when she reached them.

The bed maids and stewards looked at her, in confusion, Joffrey sitting at his desk, watching them all work on cleaning the room.

“Out. Everyone get out.” She told them. But they looked to Joffrey in confusion, looking for his approval to leave.

Joffrey nodded, with a quick motion of his hand, telling them to leave as well. A certain bedmaid gave Y/n a look. Perhaps that was the bedmaid who’d been spreading the rumors.

Joffrey had stood, waiting for the last of them to leave and close the door behind them. And finally when the steward had closed the door, Joff looked to his sister. “I don’t believe I asked you here?” He questioned.

“I’m the princess, second in line to the throne, I don’t have to be asked somewhere.” She told him, marching up to him, only mere inches from him.

“Have you been angered by something?”

The princess shook her head. “No.” She answered simply, grabbing the edges of his cape that had been secured to his doublet, pulling him down to her.

Joff’s deep green eyes looked at hers. “If I agree to give you a child, you cannot be angered if I give you a daughter. And if I do give you a daughter, she will still be your heir. And even If I do you give you a son, I will name him. And I will name our daughter as well. They will be raised in the Lannister colors, and they will not be your pawns.”

Joffrey smiled at that, grabbing her hips and pulling her to him. “I’ve always loved your will. Your stubbornness… Deal.” He told her.

“Good.” She agreed, resting one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest.

“Get on the bed,” Joff demanded softly, stroking her cheek. “And I will treat you like a queen.”

Y/n obliged. She didn’t see this as a win for herself. She saw this as a way to gain his trust in her. She knew he didn’t trust her in the slightest with anything she ever did.

She had striped herself of her petticoat and shoes, getting onto the bed. Her hair spread out under her.

She could hear Joffrey removing his own shoes, and his trousers, climbing onto the bed and over her. His hot breath brushing against her face as he leaned in close, pulling her skirts up to her waist to position himself between her legs.


	7. Chapter 7

Y/n looked on in horror when she walked in after her uncle. The sight of Sansa on her knees crying, her arms trying to conceal her exposed chest from the eager eyes of the people of the court. A dying cat mewling with a bolt of a crossbow in it’s ribs off to the side.

Who let him have a crossbow? Y/n thought to herself. He’ll kill us all if we allow that.

Y/n let Tyrion scold Joffrey, she couldn’t care less, If Joffrey had been hit a few times as a child then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this situation. She lifted her skirts, rushing to the Stark girl’s side, throwing herself next to her, grabbing her shoulder to pull her close, letting her sleeves cover Sansa’s breasts and bare back.

She could hear their laughing. Oh, the men and the women of the court were awful things. Laughing at a poor, young girl who had been beaten by Boros.

“Someone give the girl something to cover herself with,” Tyrion demanded.

When Y/n heard the rustling of fabric she looked up to see Sandor Clegane taking off his white cloak and tossing it in front of Sansa.

The redhead reached for it, but Y/n acted quicker, grabbing it and wrapping it around her shoulders to keep her body from the people.

“This girl’s to be your queen,” the Imp told Joffrey. “Have you no regard for her honor?” “I’m punishing her.”

“For what crime? She did not fight her brother’s battle.”

“She has the blood of a wolf.”

“And you have the wits of a goose.”

“You can’t talk to me that way. The king can do as he likes.”

Y/n looked over to Joffrey. He’d said that to her plenty of times. The times when he forced her to lay on the bed in her bedchambers.

Y/n tried to soothe Sansa’s cries. Sansa was strong, the princess knew that. She was a Stark, she had to be. Especially if Arya was her sister. But she understood Sansa’s imetidate reaction to having her holding her. Sansa leaned into Y/n’s embrace, her head against Y/n’s collarbone, her red hair covering her face and white wool covered chest.

“Aerys Targaryen did as he liked. Has your mother ever told you what happened to him?”

Y/n snorted at that, rubbing a gentle hand into Sansa’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Sansa.” She whispered to her.

Ser Boros expressed his disapproval with Tyrion’s words, “No man threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard.”

“It was not a threat, Ser Boros, it’s an education, something my brother lacks.” Y/n spat, looking from the knight to her younger brother who gave her a scowl.

Tyrion smirked at Y/n’s comment. She said exactly what he’d been thinking “Bronn, Timett, the next time Ser Boros opens his mouth, kill him.”

“That was a threat Ser Boros, see the difference?” Y/n demanded as Sansa’s sobs quieted down, to just her shaking in fear.

“The Queen will hear of this!”Ser Boros proclaimed.

“No doubt she will. And why wait? Joffrey, shall we send for your mother?” Tyrion asked, looking to Joffrey

The king turned a bright shade of red.

“Nothing to say, Your Grace?” Y/n’s uncle went on. “Good. Learn to use your ears more and your mouth less, or your reign will be shorter than I am. Wanton brutality is no way to win your people’s love … or your queen’s.”

“Fear is better than love, Mother says.” Joffrey pointed at Y/n and Sansa. “They fear me.”

The Imp sighed. “Yes, I see. A pity Stannis and Renly aren’t twelve and fourteen-year-old girls as well. Y/n, bring her.”

Y/n nodded, whispering to Sansa that they had to go. She helped her up as carefully as possible, not wanting to accidentally brush against one of the forming bruises and hurt her. Miza gave Sansa a pitiful look, holding Lucia in her arms as best as she could, as Lucia had discovered the joy of being able to turn and look around at will.

Y/n took Sansa to the Tower of the Hand, she shewed off all of the serving girls who tried to take Sansa off of her hands. “Miza, can you run her a bath?” She asked the handmaiden who happily nodded and went to place Lucia down to sleep so she could grab the bath. “Let’s get you out of this gown.” She told her gently. She wasn’t going to tell her it was all going to be better. Because it wasn’t. Y/n knew that from her experience with Joffrey. The most you could ever do was try and make her forget for a little while. To brighten her mood, or maybe let her rest. Go to a safe place in her dreams. Whenever Joffrey left her bedchambers, or she left his, she’d go to a place in her mind. A safe home, in the summer isles or the free cities. Perhaps Bravos. Where Joffrey could never get her.

Y/n helped Sansa out of her skirts and smallclothes, and when Miza had the bath ready for her, she helped her into the warm water, and helped Miza bathe her. She wasn’t going to leave. She couldn’t put Sansa in danger like that. What if Joffrey sent the kingsguard in and took Sansa away while she left? At least while Y/n was in the room, she stood a chance at protecting her.

“Sansa… I know it won’t get better. But… I promise you, as long as I can keep my brother from harming you… I will.” She told the girl. But she stayed silent. She was lonely. Y/n realized. How could she have been so blind? Of course she’d been lonely, she had no one in the capitol who she trusted, and Jayne Poole had been sent away by Y/n’s mother.

She needed a friend, and she needed family. “Watch her for a moment, I’ll be back.” Y/n told Miza, going to go get Lucia who was happily babbling to herself in the next room over on a bed Miza had laid her in.

She had pillows on either side of her to prevent her from rolling off of the bed and getting hurt. And it was no doubt comfortable.

“Come here, my love.” Y/n whispered to her, picking her up as gently as possible, before walking back to them. Sansa turned her head watching Y/n as she kneeled next to Sansa. She didn’t care if Sansa was still in the bath. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“You have family in the capitol,” Y/n told her gently, holding Luci out for her to hold. Sansa seemed shocked by the sudden idea of holding the baby that she’d never really seen up close, but nevertheless, she held her arms out to take Lucia. Miza helped Sansa hold her. Showing her how to.

Sansa held Lucia so high up that Lucia was barely two inches away from her face. But it was her futile attempt of keeping the water off of her.

“Look at her. She looks familiar doesn’t she?”

Sansa looked at Y/n before back at the baby, making eye contact with the little girl who smiled happily at her. Lucia’s chubby little hands touching Sansa’s face just as gently as Y/n and Miza handled her.

Sansa recognized the eyes. Dark grey, like Arya and her father. Her dark brown hair like them as well. And her skin was tanner than Y/n’s, but not quite like them.

But it was the face Lucia made next that made it click in her mind. The sad look that crossed Lucia’s face when Sansa didn’t smile back.

“Jon-” Sansa realized, now holding Lucia more firmly, holding her even closer. “She’s… She’s my niece?” Sansa looked to Y/n who smiled and nodded.

“Jon’s her father.”

Sansa now looked to Lucia again, with a small smile on her face. As she kissed the baby’s tan forehead.

Miza and Y/n shared a knowing look. This was the look of a girl who had something she loved again. And Y/n couldn’t blame her. Lucia was family, and she was the only innocent thing in all of the Red Keep. The one thing who’d never done anything to hurt Sansa.

They’d helped Sansa out of the tub, letting her keep Lucia in her arms. And they’d let Lucia be in her eyesight when Maester Frenken came in to treat the angry red welts that had formed on the back of her legs. And Miza even went as far as to bring Lucia’s bassinet into the room they’d moved Sansa into once she’d fallen asleep.

“I must visit Joffrey, I’ll be back as soon as I can be. Make sure Sansa and Lucia are safe, Tyrion put two of the tribe women right outside, but you never know.”

Miza nodded, bringing Y/n into a hug. “I’ll keep an eye on them. And I will pray for no child to be conceived.” Miza told her

“I fear, that we must pray for the opposite, once I bare him a child, he’ll leave me alone.” Y/n told her softly, as to not wake up Sansa, even if she was knocked out due to the dreamwine that the Maester had given her.

“Oh, sweet girl, He’s a boy in love, he’ll never leave you alone.” Miza told her pulling away from the hug, “But I will pray. And I’ll pray for a girl, to spite him.”

Y/n smiled at that. “As do I. How does Joanna or Tya sound?” Miza smiled at that as well. “I’m sure either way, the child will be beautiful, because they’ll be yours.”

Y/n nodded and went to leave, giving the women outside of the room a nod, going to the royal bedchambers. She didn’t expect to be there for so long. She didn’t expect for Joffrey to hit her the moment she walked in. Nor did she expect the cut his ring had left on her lip.

But she came back to the Tower of the Hand after, to find Tyrion getting ready to escort Sansa back to her bedchambers, Miza sitting next to the young girl who held Lucia in her lap.

“Sansa, has decided to go to her own bed for the night, would you like to come with us?” Tyrion asked, looking up at her with his pitch black eye and striking green eye. But saw the dry cut on her lip. He didn’t say anything, not wanting to drive Sansa’s attention to it.

“I would love to!” Y/n said happily, walking over to Sansa and helping her up, steadying her grip on Lucia she held against her chest now.

They took Sansa back to her room, and Sansa gently handed Lucia back to Y/n with a small smile still on her face. “I will see in the morrow, Lady Sansa?” Y/n questioned. It shocked Tyrion how Y/n seemed eager to see the younger girl.

“Yes, when would you like to see me?” Sansa questioned.

“I could send a serving girl to retrieve you in the morning, we could break our fast together in my chambers, if that’s alright with you?”

Sansa nodded slowly “I… would love that.” Sh responded.

“In the morning then.”


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m deeply sorry for your uncle’s passing, I know you two were close.” Sansa told Y/n, watching as she rocked Lucia to sleep. The little girl’s dark lightweight curls swaying with the motion. The weeks since Y/n had held Sansa on the floor of the throne room, they’d grown close. The three of them were all as close as family. Sansa, Y/n and Miza.

Y/n gave a sad shrug “It’s alright. I knew somehow… Joffrey or Stannis would have him killed. I just wish I could have said goodbye before he left.” Y/n told her, resting Lucia in her bassinet. “I wish I could have let him know that even if we weren’t related by blood, he was still my family.” Y/n smiled at Sansa, sitting down at the table. “I believe that Arya is safe. I was with her. She’s strong… I can only hope that she made it out of the city and is going somewhere safe.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. “I never should have called her names, or made fun of her-”

Y/n grabbed Sansa’s hands that rested on the table “Don’t apologize, All siblings fight. I’ve fought with all of mine. More so Joff than Myrcella or Tomm, but I have. I wouldn’t take those fights back for the world.” She said smiling at the Stark girl who gave her a smile as well before Miza set down a cup of wine in front of Y/n. “Thank you.” Y/n smiled at Miza who took a seat, handing Sansa a cup of watered down wine. The way Sansa still prefered to drink it.

Sansa thanked Miza happily and drank from the cup like the princess and handmaiden. They stayed in comfortable silence, drinking their wine and looking at the table. There was nothing to say. Not really anyway. Not until they had to Escort Myrcella to the docks tomorrow.

But Y/n felt a roll in her stomach. Like how you would feel on a ship when a wave lifted the ship up. That sickening feeling came over her quickly. But she pushed it down. Making a loud gulp when she pushed it down with a large swig of the wine.

“Princess are you alright?” Miza questioned, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. But she could tell from Y/n’s pale face that she wasn’t alright. “Sansa, I think the princess needs to retire for the day.”

Sansa nodded slowly, examining Y/n. “Is she alright?” She inquired, standing and rounding the table to rest a hand on Y/n’s other should as she kept trying to keep the sickness down. Having to bring a hand up to her mouth. Miza knew it was even worse when she saw Y/n’s stomach and chest heave as though she was about to lose everything she’d eaten in the last hour.

“I’m fine.” Y/n forced out, holding it back as best she could. But she couldn’t. She pushed past Miza to get to her chamber pot, letting her breakfast loose into the gold pot.

“Y/n-”

“I’m alright, Sansa.” Y/n recovered quickly. The color coming back to her face quickly as she rested a hand on her chest.

Miza came to her side, she knew. This is what happened months before Lucia had been born. Just a few months after she’d been conceived.

“Sansa, could we have a moment alone?” Miza asked in a sweet manner. Miza always was sweet. She never held any ill will against anyone. Well… In this instant she held ill will against the king. She wished him dead. She wished for this child to be brought into a world where Joffrey would have no part in their life. Where the child would only have a mother. Often times she had pity for father or motherless children, like she did for Luci, but she would feel accomplished if Joffrey was never able to claim his sister’s child as his.

Sansa nodded. “I hope you feel better.” she said to the princess who smiled at her. “Can you take Lucia? She seems to like you, She needs more people.”

Sansa smiled and nodded, grabbing Lucia’s blanket and favorite doll, and of course, Lucia who made happy cooing noises when Sansa leaned over her. “Has she been to the godswood?” Sansa questioned

“Only once, though, I’m sure she’d love to go again.” Y/n answered, getting an absentminded nod from Sansa as she took Lucia to the godswood for some fresh air.

Once Sansa closed the door, Y/n could feel herself begin to break down, tears welling up in her eyes. “How long has it been since his name day?”

Miza counted on her fingers “Months? Five at the most. When was the last time you bled?”

Y/n shrugged “I don’t remember.” She sobbed, going to her bed to sit down and try to figure it out herself.

She didn’t think that this child could have been conceived on his name day. But she also knew that the last time she had bled was a few weeks before she and Jon had laid together.

She had read in Maester Pycelle’s books that it could become extremely difficult for a woman to become pregnant if she’d been breastfeeding since the previous child had been born. And only recently had they been giving Lucia small amounts of real food, such as pitless olives since they were squishy and could easily be taken apart by Luci’s gums, and bread that she would dissolved in her mouth. And they’d gone to giving her small amounts of water.

But she couldn’t figure out how long she’d been pregnant. All she knew was that she had to keep it from Joffrey for as long as possible.

“We mustn’t let Joffrey find out. This must remain between us, no one can know!” Y/n begged urgently.

But she didn’t have to beg, Miza was already getting Y/n’s shawls out of her wardrobe and laying them out to choose a color that would go well with her current dress.

“Here, white looks good with everything.” Miza was in a panic to try and help her calm down. She felt like it was her responsibility to help her. She was older by five years, and Y/n was only a child. She didn’t deserve any of the things that were happening to her.

“You have to calm down, look at me.” Miza spoke firmly, grabbing Y/n’s shoulders “You are Y/n of the house Lannister, you are the granddaughter of Tywin Lannister, and the niece of Tyrion Lannister. You must be clever and tricky for others to maneuver around you. Make it so this child is your strength.”

Y/n sniffled and looked up at her, silent tears now going down her cheeks before she nodded in agreement. “You cannot love them less than Lucia, this child had no choice. But you can loathe Joffrey unlike Luci’s father, is that understood?”

This time Y/n nodded in a stronger manner, pushing herself from her bed taking the white shawl, wrapping it around her shoulders so it would hang in front of her stomach to hide the slowly growing bump.

“Let’s go to court.” She said confidently.


	9. Chapter 9

Y/n’s arms were wrapped around Joffrey’s shoulders as he rutted inside of her. She didn’t often hold him this close. The only times he’d ever been chest to chest with her was when he acted quicker than her, which wasn’t often. He hadn’t acted quickly today. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d snapped at Miza right before Joffrey had come in, and she’d realized that her outburst against her uncle a few weeks ago was more than likely because of a swing of emotions caused by her pregnancy.

Since yesterday morning, Y/n had become hyper aware of her sore breasts and sensitive emotions. And had realized that she should have figured it out sooner than she had. But still, she didn’t know when this child would be born. She had no idea when they’d been conceived.

The king’s head was buried into her shoulder, his hot breath fanning over her neck everytime he grunted in satisfaction. But he stopped, his member still buried inside of her, he pushed himself up to look down at her confused expression. He never stopped, not even when she cried out in pain.

“Can- can I try something?” He questioned quietly. That’s strange. Y/n thought. She only nodded, an Joffrey pulled out of her for a moment walking back on his knees before grabbing her ankles pulling her away from the pillows.

Joffrey crawled back on top of her, his hands cupping her cheeks leaning down to kiss her busted lips. Even now he shocked her. The gentleness behind it as he fell into a rhythm of moving his lips against hers.

His hands left her cheeks, grabbing her knees to pull her legs around his waist, as he now slowly slid back into her. Y/n tensed up her hands grabbing his shoulders as he separated their lips, his forehead against hers as he held still, no matter how badly he wanted to move He opened his eyes from the kiss, his dark green eyes meeting her lighter emerald green.

He gently pulled out before gently sliding back in, shooting something off inside of Y/n as she leaned her head back to avoid eye contact with him, looking up at the green canopy of her bed.

He continued the slow ministrations, his lips in contact with the outward curve of her neck. He bit and sucked on the sensitive, pale freckled skin that rested over her neck, leaving the dark love bites from her jaw to her clavicle.

She didn’t mean to, but when he pulled out once again and pushed back, she sucked in a sudden gasp of pleasure, her hands finding his upper arms.

Yet again, Y/n didn’t mean too, but she looked between the unfilled space between them, only getting a brief look at how he was moving his hips before he grabbed her face and kissed her again.

Y/n was reminded of Jon. How he’d kiss her so gently but with such fervor and passion that it drove both of them up the stone walls. But this wasn’t Jon. This was her younger brother.

Y/n couldn’t quite figure out what to do with her hands, so she settled for letting them grab at his hips, urging him on by pulling him back into her.

Joffrey grunted and Y/n moaned into the kiss, one hand grabbing at his golden curls, similar to her own.

Y/n’s hips bucked in Joffrey’s involentarly, and he took the chance to grab them, holding them up against him.

Y/n gasped out at the new angle, she made eye contact with him for a moment before he dropped his head, chin touching his chest as he continued to move, gradually picking up pace.

His head dropped so low that his forehead was flush against the top of her breast. Y/n rested her forehead against the top of his head placing a kiss to his hair. She gathered his curls and moved them to the opposite side of his head so she could see his flushed cheeks.

Y/n hated this, she hated that her body betrayed her and gave in to Joff. She hated that this was even happening, that she was finding pleasure with him.

Y/n yelped out in pain when he dug his nails into her hips, but she felt that familiar warmth in her core. She knew what was happening to her. And she felt as if she’d just been thrown over a cliff by her most trusted friend.

Even more so when Joffrey pushed himself as deep into her as he could. Painting her walls with his seed.

Joff collapsed on top of her like he usually did, and Y/n held his back against her, letting him catch his breath while she caught hers. Y/n’s legs slipped from his waist, laying against the mattress as calmly as possible.

Joffrey lifted his head from her chest and looked at her. The gods did curse them all didn’t they? They made a boy who was so devilishly handsome that it would draw women in, and just like a venus flytrap, betray the ones who trusted him.

He smiled down at her and let a dry, happy chuckle vibrate through his ribs as he kissed her again before he pulled out of her, letting his seed spill out. A waste of effort. She thought when she felt it.

He’d pulled her up off of the mattress and helped her dress, it was the first time he’d ever shown her kindness after one of his sessions with her.

But she noticed how Joffrey’s hands every now and again brushed against her stomach. And how, after he’d helped her dress into the blue gown she wore, he took her to the mirror and cupped her stomach from behind, making her blood run cold. He couldn’t know about it yet, could he?

“I believe that soon we’ll have our Baratheon heir. Golden hair and all.” He spoke to her in a loving tone. “But until then, we should escort our sister to the docks.” He told Y/n, taking her hand and leading her out of the room, to the throne room where everyone was beginning to gather around Myrcella.


	10. Chapter 10

Y/n didn’t have much to say to her sister as she walked up to her, ready to get aboard the ship to Bravos. The ship that was sailing our of Dragonstone’s view to keep Stannis from attacking and harming Myrcella. Of course Ser Arys Oakheart was going to be there to protect her. But it still gave Y/n a sense of anxiety. As though something awful was going to happen at any moment once she was in Sunspear.

But when Myrcella came to give Y/n a hug, she felt her heart beginning to break at the thought that she might never see her again.

“Once I have a daughter, I’ll name her for you.” Myrcella informed Y/n, a sad smile on her face. She was thinking the same thing.

This could be their last memory of each other.

“Y/n Martell? Named for a strong Lannister queen.”

Myrcella nodded a happier look coming into her emerald eyes. “You were named for her. The strongest Lannister woman I think has ever been in our mother’s family. Surely the gods will make sure you live up to her own legacy.”

The Baratheon children had been named for Lannister men and women. Tommen and Joffrey for the kings of the rock, Myrcella was named for King Gerald III’s only living child. Myrcella Lannister. And Y/n was named for Tommen II’s only living child as well. Y/n Lannister, the first and only independent queen of the rock, who defied her bastard nephew’s claim to the Rock throne. Her counsel betrayed her, and threw her into a jail cell where she was never seen again. After her bastard nephew died with no living children, her own son took the throne. Loren the Last. The one who knelt to Aegon the conqueror.

“Hopefully not to the full extent.” Y/n smiled.

Myrcella laughed slightly, nodding. “But you’re both brave, and by all accounts, very beautiful.”

Y/n gave a sad smile at that. She never felt brave. Not against Joffrey anyway.

“What are our words?” Y/n asked Myrcella, taking her flushed cheeks into her hands. The heat was getting to her. She needed to be out with the waves. They’d give her somewhat of a breeze.

“Hear me Roar and Ours is The Fury.”

“Hear me Roar, Ours is The Fury, Tireless, and Burning Bright.” Y/n corrected. Often times, they recognized their mother’s blood and not just Robert’s, who’s blood didn’t run through them. What harm was there to recognize their great grandmothers blood as well?

“Marbrand and Prester? But-”

“You will never grow tired of roaring to show your fury, and you will burn as bright as the sun.” Y/n told her, hugging her one last time before letting her go to the boat. She stepped back to be next to Joffrey once again.

“This shouldn’t be happening.” Y/n whispered to him as the High Septon gave Myrcella his blessings.

“Don’t whine. It’s not very ladylike.” He grumbled back. Y/n only nodded and kept her poise. Watching as the Septon’s crystal crown caught the sun perfectly, reflecting it onto Myrcella’s upturned face.

Y/n could feel her mother’s eyes on her and Joffrey when she took Joffrey’s arm, leaning her head on his shoulder as the High Septon was about to finish his blessings on Myrcella’s voyage.

When the Septon left the deck of the Seaswift, Y/n could hear the horns blow, Lionstar and Lady Lyanna, the royal ships, pushed out from the docks, going down the river to make room for the Seaswift.

Myrcella stood on the stern of the ship , waving goodbye to them, with Arys Oakheart standing right behind her, charged with protecting her.

Y/n could hear Tommen crying, catching her attention. Y/n turned her head to hold her hand out for him while Joffrey berated him for it.

“You mew like a suckling babe.” Joff hissed “Princes aren’t supposed to cry.” Nevertheless, Tommen took Y/n’s hand and she pulled him into her side, an arm around his shoulders, a thumb rubbing gentle circles into his shoulder.

“Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon,” Sansa Stark said, “and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound.”

Y/n smiled at Sansa’s words, but continued to frown when Joffrey continued to be unnecessarily cruel. “Be quiet, or I’ll have Ser Meryn give you a mortal wound,”

Y/n glanced back at her uncle, seeing him also staring back at her. They were thinking the same thing, and they both knew it.

_**He’s a monster.** _

The little fleet was far away when Y/n’s mother gave an indication that it was time to head back to the castle.

Joffrey had only shown his small bits of true kindness to her. And in this was one of them. Shoeing away Sar Balon Swann, who was about to help her onto her horse, and doing it himself. Giving a genuine, almost infectious smile to her, once she’d settled onto the saddle of the horse.

He’d gone to his own stallion, not bothering to help Sansa who had been helped by Ser Balon instead.

Y/n noticed the moonstone hair net. Y/n had one similar. Also gifted to her by Joffrey. She rarely wore it. She preferred most of her hair to be down anyway, and when she did wear one, it was often a smaller one, that held a bun in place.

The streets were narrow and the looks from the people were insidious. Just as the rumors she’d heard about Lucia’s conception.

Ser Jacelyn Bywater was in the lead, with lancers mounted on horses, in black ringmail and gold cloaks. Behind them him came Ser Aron Santagar and Ser Balon Swann, carrying Joffrey’s banners. The golden lion of Lannister and the crowned stag of Baratheon. He had no right to bare the stag. Y/n and Tommen didn’t have the rights to wear the black and gold colors of Baratheon.

Y/n rode on one side of Joffrey, and Sansa on the other. Joffrey sat tall and proud on his tall grey palfrey, his golden crown set upon his curls. Sansa rode a chestnut mare, she looked at nothing in particular except for the back of her mare’s head. Y/n rode a yellow stallion who was practically gold, with a white mane and tail.

The Hound rode close to Sansa, and Ser Mandon Moore rode close to Y/n’s. They were flanking the trio. Keeping a close eye on them to protect them.

Tommen rode right behind the three of them, forming a strange diamond shape, with their mother right behind, accompanied by Ser Lancel and protected by Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. After them, Y/n stopped paying attention, only acknowledging that Miza was right behind Tyrion, with Lucia snug against her chest in a carrier They’d made days prior to make riding easier.

Y/n shared pitiful looks with the unwashed commoners of the city. People who aren’t receiving proper food due to Joffrey locking out the farmers, and keeping the people in.

It was when they began their climb up Aegon’s High Hill when things become worse. A few voices called out to the king “Joffrey! All hail, all hail!” But they were few and far between. For every man who shouted, a hundred kept their silence, sitting and seething in their hatred for the king.

But, a wailing woman forced her way between two of the watchmen and into the street in front of the king, her skinny, trembling arms holding up the corpse dead son. A babe, swollen and blue. It made Y/n’s stomach churn. The thought of Lucia ever looking like that.

Both Y/n and Sansa leaned over to Joffrey at the same time, asking him to have a small mercy for her. But neither of them expected him to reach into his purse and pull out a silver stag The silver coin bounced off of the child’s blue forehead and away, under the legs of horses and into the crowd where men began to fight for it.

The mother never blinke, not once, only looking to the king, then to Sansa and Y/n. A pleading look on her face.

Y/n wanted to beg Joffrey to let her come to the palace, where they could get her a proper meal, and a bed to sleep in, and she had leaned over to Joffrey, a hand grabbing his forearm, but as she began her request Cersei called out “Leave her, Your Grace, she’s beyond our help, poor thing.”

Y/n turned her head, a hateful glare going in her mother’s direction.

Everyone heard her, especially the mother. And the queen’s voice broke through the woman’s ravaged mind. He face full of loathing as she dropped her dead child onto the stone as if he were a sack of potatoes.

“Whore!” She screamed. “Kingslayer’s whore! Brotherfucker!” She pointed to Cersei contuing the insult “Brotherfucker brotherfucker brotherfucker!”

Y/n saw who threw the dung, a young boy, with a great aim for his age. Such great aim that it didn’t even come close to Y/n or Sansa, hitting Joffrey on one side of his face, splattering onto Sansa’s legs, and caking into Joffrey’s golden curls.

Y/n had to hold back her laughter at seeing such a face from Joffrey. Though she did feel awful for Sansa having it on her. And felt bad for her sudden shriek of being startled. She watched as the little boy made eye contact with her, A smile on both of their faces before Y/n mouthed ‘Run.’ to him. He took off so fast that it was like Y/n had never seen him to begin with.

“Who threw that?” Joff demanded, pushing his fingers into his hair, flinging another handful of dung away from him. “I want the man who threw that!” He screamed “A hundred golden dragons to the man who gives him up!”

They’d never give the boy up. Not even for that much. Y/n knew that. Even in a matter of starvation. Y/n lived among them for a while. And while there wasn’t a strong sense of community. It was widely agreed upon, that no matter what, if it was a child who committed a crime, you never told.

“He was up there!” A woman lied from the crowd. Leading the king to turn his horse in a circle, searching the rooftops and open balconies that stood above them. But all they could see was people who pointed, shoved and cursed one another and the king.

“Please, Your Grace, let him go,” Sansa pleaded.

Joff paid her no attention. “Bring me the man who flung that filth!” He commanded “He’ll lick it off me or I’ll have his head! Dog, you bring him here!”

Sandor Clegane swung down from his stallion, but there was no way he was going to get through the wall of flesh, people trying to scatter, and others pushing through to see what was happening.

A line of insults sored through the crowd, directed to Joffrey, Cersei and Tyrion. Cries for Justice, and cries for Robb Stark, Stannis and Renly. But once someone mentioned bread, all cries for different kings ceased, and they began demanding for food.

“Back to the castle. Now” Y/n heard her uncle yell. But her worries were with Miza and Lucia who were behind him.

But Y/n could hear Miza’s horse galloping up behind her own, as they all forced the horses to break into a sprint. Riding to the castle to avoid a certain death or torture by the people.

Y/n couldn’t even remember getting off of her horse, all she remembered was taking Luci from Miza’s shaking arms. Lucia’s wails breaking through the air, Y/n’s own sobs racking through her body, the fear of potentially losing her child was overwhelming. Miza held Y/n up from collapsing onto the cobbled stone ground, Lucia’s cries one of the only things heard over the swarm of people from beyond the gates of the castle.

Lucia’s chubby hands grabbed onto Y/n’s dress, her tears soaking into the silk bodice. Y/n would swear up and down and to all of the seven gods that she’d never held Lucia so tight, or so close before. Y/n’s right hand held Lucia’s bottom up, and her left held the back of Luci’s head.

Y/n pulled away from her close embrace with her daughter, littering Luci’s head with tearful kisses. “I love you, gods I love you so much, Lucia.”

Y/n didn’t bother listening to the conversation until she realized that Sansa wasn’t with them “Where’s Sansa?” She demanded, standing up, a tight grip still on Lucia’s small, weak body.

For a moment, no one answered. “She was riding by me. I don’t know where she went” Joffrey answered

Y/n huffed, “Ser Mandon, you were in charge of protecting her, you were her shield!” She scolded.

Mandon remained unbothered by Y/n’s demenor. “When they mobbed the Hound, I thought first of the king.”

“And rightly so,” Cersei butted in. “Boros, Meryn, go back and find the girl.”

Y/n glared at the two men. Why would Sansa want to go with them? After all they had done on the orders of the king?

“The sight of our white cloaks might enrage the mob.” Ser Boros stated displeased.

“For gods sake, you will not go! Find another knight in the castle braver than you to go. You and your self preservation is a disgusting sight to the kingsguard!-”

“There she is!” Joffrey shouted, pointing.

Y/n turned her head, Sandor came in through the gates on top of Sansa’s chestnut mare. Sansa sat behind him, arms wrapped around his chest.

Y/n ran up to the mare as Sandor came to a halt when he heard the whimpers of the babe who rested in her mother’s arms.

“Sansa-” She didn’t get to finish before Sandor helped her to the ground, and Sansa helped herself to a hug from Y/n, who happily held her in a hug.

“Where’s Lollys?” Lady Tanda questioned carefully.

“Never saw her.” Sandor glanced around. “Where’s my horse? If anything’s happened to that horse, someone’s going to pay.”

Y/n walked Sansa over to stack of hay so she could try and calm down. Y/n gently handed Lucia over to her. Both of whom seemed pleased by the idea. Lucia instantly laying her head on the auburn hair that swept over Sansa’s shoulder, and Sansa eagerly holding her against her chest and shoulder.

“Fire!” A voice screamed, “My lords, there’s smoke in the city, Flea Bottom’s afire!”

Y/n looked up to the sky, seeing the smoke rising from beyond the gates of the castle. “Gods.” She whispered quietly, a gentle hand resting on her abdomen, feeling the small bump when she pressed down through the corset and bodice.

••••

Y/n sat in a leather chair, looking out of a window in a hall, watching the smoke rising from Flea Bottom. “Miza?” She questioned, a hand on Lucia’s hunched over back. Her knees bent into a kneeling position next to Y/n’s thigh, and her small chest and head on her thigh, peacefully asleep.

“Yes, your highness?” Miza responded calmly, setting her stitching hoop down on the stone floor next to the leg of her own chair.

“Is it better to be loved, or feared by your people? In a political stance?”

Miza hummed at that, taken aback by the question. “My uncle, Doran always said that being loved if it happened was always a good thing. But if you could choose, you should choose to be feared. People are not always motivated by love. But they are by fear. But, do not be hated, If you are hated, then people will do all they can to get you out of power.”

Y/n nodded “I think a bit of both is a healthy mix. When the mob calms down, you, me and Tommen should hand out bread. We have everything we need to make it. It may not come out perfect, But, It’ll be edible.” She said, looking to the Dornish woman who smiled at her.

“You’ve always been a kind girl. One day you’ll be recognized for that.”


	11. Chapter 11

In the past week Y/n often found herself consumed in her thoughts. Thoughts of Lucia and the child growing in her womb. Thoughts of Jon, and even her mother. Thoughts of the man who was truly her father. The man who gave her his blood. The man who decided whether or not Cersei’s children were to be trueborn or not.

It made her think so hard that her head began to hurt. Lucia’s absurdly quiet snores where barely heard from across the room. Only the little huffs of breath she would release every so often.

She was consumed with the fear for her daughter. The fear for this child she carried. She could feel her heart swell with love at the mere thought of her new child. The thought of Lucia and them playing happily in the godswood with flowy pink dresses made her uncontrollably happy.

But everytime, she was reminded of who had given her this unborn child. She seemed forgetful lately. Perhaps she was intentionally trying to forget who this child’s father was. Trying to forget the torment he was putting her through every moment. It was her way to try and get herself to love her second child as much as she loved Lucia.

She didn’t realize how much she loathed him until now. Until she realized that he made it so she tried to convince herself to love her unborn infant.

What monster could ever make a woman potentially hate their child?

For that, she’d come to the conclusion, a brief and simple one, that yet, still took her so long to reach it. A conclusion that resulted in such a deep seated hate, one that buried itself into the marrow of her bones and the inner linings of her arteries.

Joffrey’s reign had to come to an end. She knew it had to be awful. Awful to anyone else, that a girl would ever dream happily about her brother’s gruesome death. A death she wished to see be painful. After all he’d done to the people who’d done nothing to him. To Sansa, who’d done nothing but be related to someone he’d deemed a traitor. A daughter to a man who’d done nothing but speak the truth. A sister to a boy who was trying to avenge his father’s unjust death.

To her. Raping his older sister because he deamed her fit to carry his children. Giving her scar on her breast because he believed she was wasn’t in the moment when he took advantage of her. The constant abuse against her and Sansa was coming to a boiling point. The threat against Miza’s life had scraped against the hard shell she’d put around the box of her anger.

She could take being hurt, and being thrown around and discarded like a toy every night and morning. But she wouldn’t stand for threats against the people she loved and cared for so dearly.

A knock sounded at the door, startling her. Joffrey wasn’t due to visit her until later in the night when he was done speaking with their mother. That wouldn’t be until the sun was fully down.

Y/n turned her head away from the smoke that blew to the coast from flea bottom and was visible from her window, looking to the door, Miza already grabbing Lucia’s favorite toys and blanket.

“Come in!”

She didn’t expect to see her stunted uncle to be the one to open the door and come in. The hinges making that awful squeaking sound that had begun just days prior.

“Your Highness.” Tyrion addressed with a weak smile, looking over to Miza who stopped in her tracks and stared at the half-man.

Y/n looked to Miza who was giving him a warning look. A look only someone so fiercely protective of someone would give. How unexplainably thankful Y/n was for Miza to have come into her service when Oberyn Martell paid Robert to allow his daughter her dream of being in the capitol.

“Uncle.” Y/n greeted, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her hands clasped together in front of her stomach, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and handing out from her stomach, hiding the growing bump that Joffrey hadn’t yet noticed.

“It’s good to see you’re doing well. People say they haven’t seen you since you came back to your bedchambers the night of the mob. All except fro Joffrey and Sansa.”

Y/n nodded “I’ve been fine. Contemplating I suppose.” She admitted. Though she didn’t know if she could go so far to tell him her plan for Joffrey’s death.

“And Lucia?”

Y/n nodded again, gesturing a hand out to Lucia’s bassinet. “Asleep. A growing babe needs their sleep. Especially a babe born from a princess.”

Tyrion hummed in amusement as he walked over to Lucia’s crib, glancing over the silk walls that surrounded her small body, keeping her from falling out. But Tyrion never believed he’d seen the look of such pride on her face, a face full of love for the infant girl.

“A beautiful girl, defies the standard of our family’s looks-”

“Why are you here?” Miza demanded, rounding the short table her glass of wine was sitting on, in front of the lounge chair she had in the room. Miza grabbed the side of the bassinet, glaring down at him. She’d been getting a bad feeling from Tyrion ever since he came to the tourney in Joffrey’s honor. And she’d made her feelings known to Y/n.

“Miza, It’s alright.” Y/n coaxed, gently, watching as Miza took a gentle step back still watching him carefully.

“But why are you here, Uncle? I believed you were busy plotting against my mother? What was your latest plot? Undermining her authority? What was it again? Making Ser Jacelyn Bywater retrieve my brother from Lord Gyles’s party? Take him from Ser Boros and then escort him the rest of the way to Lord Gyles?”

Tyrion was taken aback by that. Shaking his head in confusion before he remembered. This wasn’t just a princess he was speaking to. It was a Lannister, full blood Lannister. With her Grandfather’s wits, from all the books he’d sent her, all the letters he sent speaking about politics, since he could no longer speak about it at the dinner table with his children. She had Tywin’s wits, and a beautiful face littered with freckles that from paintings made it obvious that she inherited them from her grandmother Joanna. She hadn’t taken after Cersei’s face. No, Cersei had a gentle, very soft look to it. Y/n’s was more angular, with a sharp nose and jaw.

But he should have known, that Y/n had her ways of getting information just as Varys did. There were other maids and stewards loyal to her, who whenever they came into her bedchambers to help Miza clean, would tell Y/n of what they’d heard. Yet, still, Tyrion didn’t know exactly who they were. After all, they exchanged each other out every few hours. Ten or so going in at a time, twice a day.

Tyrion only shrugged, looking to the baby. “I just wanted to tell you… that I am… I don’t know the word. Proud? I suppose. I don’t believe any of us expected you to be the one to bare a child before marriage. Let alone, happily claim her.” He said in more of a questioning tone, looking to Lucia. “May I?” He asked.

Y/n hesitantly nodded, and watched him as if she were an eagle, as he leaned over the bassinet, gently taking the infant girl into his arms. The look didn’t suit him. The look of a child sleeping in his arms. No, Y/n was more accompanied with the idea of Tyrion with whores on his arms from the highest esteemed brothels in the city.

He began to walk to the balcony of her bedchambers. An area she had rarely gone to in her room quarters. She followed closely behind, Watching as he opened the door and walked to a chair, taking his seat as she and Miza took theirs, watching him.

Two naturally distrusting women, with a man who played games. An interesting mix.

“If I didn’t know any better… I’d say she’s Jon Snow’s bastard.” He said nonchalantly, catching both Y/n and Miza’s attention. Y/n didn’t know why Miza’s interest was peaked. She didn’t trust anyone with that information. Not even Jon.

“But you do.” Y/n said hopefully.

Tyrion shook his head, gently rocking Luci when she began to stir in her sleep. “I don’t believe I do. In fact… I firmly believe that she is Jon Snow’s bastard.”

Y/n was about to open her mouth to dispute his claim. Tell him that Jon Snow had never even once be so close that he could ever father a child from her. But he stopped her.

“Don’t argue with me. You and I both know she is. She has the Stark look. Minus the long face. She has your face. But she’s an in between in tan and pale. She has your freckles. And Jon’s black eyes.

“Grey,” Y/n corrected angrily “Jon had dark grey eyes.”

That made Tyrion smile. Not from her anger with him, but her suddenly giving herself away. But Tyrion already knew. He’d intercepted a letter from Miza to Jon. Telling him of Lucia and how she was doing, and that Y/n was falling into the motherly role perfectly as any unprepared, unmarried, princess could.

He’d let the letter go through. He’d never prevent a father from knowing of his child.

“I won’t tell anyone. If you tell me of your current situation?” He suggested. She knew what this was. She’d always been better at hiding her lies better than anyone else. And most people have already heard the rumors that she and Joffrey were laying together. Often saying that they followed in the Kingslayer and the Brotherfucker’s footsteps. Some people, not many but she’d heard a few, putting it together. Saying that Joffrey wanted an heir. How right they were.

But she’d kept the secret of her pregnancy well hidden. Even if Joffrey had seen her many times since they’d seen Myrcella off. And had been there each day she saw her stomach growing.

“With child, not accepting name suggestions or early name day gifts.” She stated simply holding her arms out to take Lucia from him.

Once Lucia was safely in her arms she stopped fussing, laying her weary head on Y/n’s chest.

“Clever one, you’ve always been. Does the king know he’s expecting a child by the end of the year?”

Y/n smiled smugly “I’ll tell the king once we’ve won the battle. He’ll have the joy and pride of a victory already seeping in, why not give him the joy and pride of knowing he’s going to have a child at the celebration?”

“Your so confidant in our winnings?”

“I know you uncle. I know you have something up those short sleeves of yours, now, leave, Miza and I have things to discuss.”


	12. Chapter 12

The crown was heavy upon Y/n’s head. Her breastplate form fitting, and stopping just above her breasts. Lucia had found the folded over golden medal at the top to be fun to hit and poke at. Her small nails often found themselves rubbing the ridges on the edge of her breastplate. An interesting surface.

Y/n was hooked arms with Sansa, Miza off helping the noble women settle into the queen’s ballroom. Some of them had small children, or even infants, just like Lucia. Some of the children were even older than Y/n. Y/n would be there too, but Joffrey beckoned both her and Sansa to see him off .

The singing from the sept could be heard from here. They’d been singing since they announced that they’d seen enemy sails off the coast.

Joffrey had been the one to request she wear her crown. Though she found it strange. He’d given it to her, but never requested for her to wear it. He only ever seemed slightly deflated in demeanor when she didn’t.

Y/n watched as Ser Meryn Trant held Joffrey’s horse still for him to mount. Both boy and horse wore gilded mail, and enameled crimson plates, with matching golden lions on their heads. And every time one of them moved the low sun would catch the gold and reflect it across the darkening courtyard.

She hated him. For the ability to go out into battle. When she was younger she dreamed of it. Especially when her uncle Jaime put a wooden sparring sword in her hand to teach her to fight. Then again, it had been the only thing she asked to have for her fifth name day.

But they were crushed eventually. She came to accept the fact that she’d never fight in a battle. And that she’d continue to live in Joffrey’s household. As the woman who bares his bastards while Sansa bares his heirs.

A poor fate they both had.

Turning away from her brother she saw her uncle, mounted on his own stallion, dressed in far more simple armour. He looked very little part of a lord, or a knight. A child playing dress up perhaps.

“Lady Sansa, Your Highness.” Tyrion greeted from his saddle. “Y/n, surely your mother had asked for Sansa to join the other highborn ladies in Maegor’s?”

“She has, my lord, but King Joffrey sent for us to see him off. we mean to visit the sept as well, to pray.” Sansa answered for Y/n. She’d caught onto the fact that she hadn’t been feeling well, and didn’t want to speak much.

“I won’t ask for whom.”

“That’s wise.” Y/n rasped.

Tyrion’s mouth twisted oddly; it wasn’t quite a smile. It was the questioning look he always gave people.

“This day may change all. For you as well as for House Lannister. I ought to have sent you off with Tommen, now that I think on it. Still, you should be safe enough in Maegor’s, so long as—”

“Y/n!” The boyish shout rang from across the yard, Joffrey saw them. “Sansa, here!”

Y/n rolled her eyes at how he addressed Sansa.

“His Grace has need of you,” Tyrion observed. “We’ll talk again after the battle, if the gods permit.”

Y/n only gave the Imp a side eye as she weaved her way through the crowd, Lucia cooing and making strange sounds all the way.

“It will be battle soon, everyone says so.” Joffrey reported needlessly.

“May the gods have mercy on us all.” Sansa said.  
“My uncle’s the one who will need mercy, but I won’t give him any.” Joffrey drew his sword.

She’d seen it before. When he came and left her chambers before he came to prepare for the battle.

“My new blade, hearteater.”

Y/n didn’t quite hear what Sansa said about the sword, but she did hear Joffrey tell Sansa to kiss the cold white steel.

“Joff-”

“Go on, kiss it.” He ushered Sansa once again. He’d never sounded so young.

Sansa leaned over and pressed her lips to the medal. It sickened her. So beautiful of a boy, and yet, so dangerous and homacidial.

Joffrey dismissed Sansa eventually, letting her go wait for Y/n on the other side of the court yard with Lucia in her arms.

“I do hope that once this battle is over we can celebrate. Just you and me. Perhaps we can find new scenery.”

Y/n hummed at that “What kinds of scenery?” She was curious as to what was gong on in his head.

Joffrey took a step closer to her, chest to chest, with a gloved hand on her hip and his head next to hers, looking over the yard.

“The godswood.”

Y/n’s eyes widened and she turned her head up to look at him, seeing him looking back, his plump lips in an upturned smile.

“You would dare commit our bodily sins in the eyes of the gods, have you no shame?” She questioned brows furrowed down in disgust. She already didn’t like knowing that at one point someone had walked in, and quickly retreated. SHe couldn’t imagine how’d she feel knowing that the gods she prayed to would see them in such a compromising position, with a child already growing in her womb. She hadn’t gone to the sept or to the godswood since she found out, in fear of angering the gods, in fear that they’d curse her and give her a son. In fear that the mother would see that she didn’t like this relationship and that she’d redeem her by stripping her of her unborn child’s presence.

“The gods have watched us grow as a result of our parents. And besides, they let the Targaryens go on with their behavior.” Joffrey brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, touching the bottom rim of the crown. “Dear sister, if you are not yet with child, let them be conceived in the eyes of the gods. Let them bless our Baratheon heir.”

He knew how to get to her. He always brought the gods into it to try and get her to do things. But this was one thing she knew more than him. She sang the hymns and prayed to the gods. She knew them better than he did.

“Yes, Your Grace.” She whispered, pulling away and going back to Sansa, leaving Joffrey to watch her walk away, red silk of her skirts flowing as she walked to Sansa, taking Luci from her, and hook her right elbow with Sansa’s left.

“His armor was brilliant. For a proper king and warrior.” Sansa fasely complimented Joffrey as they walked to the bridge

“It’s alright, you don’t have to act as though you love him, I know you don’t. Neither do I. His armor was brilliant. But it shone, and glittered, and it emptied. He’s not a Baratheon no matter how many times he claims he is. He is a Lannister by blood, as much Ser Jaime’s as he is my mother’s. It’s a Lannister’s empty gold of course.-”

She was cut off by seeing Lollys struggling to go into Maegor’s. Clutched to a maid, who was slender, with short dark hair, pretty. And seemed to want nothing but to shove Lollys into the dry moat and onto the iron spikes.

“I don’t want to, I don’t want to, I don’t want to.” Lollys pleaded.

Y/n sighed gently, walking over to see that Landy Tanda and her other daughter were there, Miza as well with her hands on her hips, looking at the girl in an unimpressed manor. “Lollys, we must go in, the battle has begun.” Miza sighed, looking up at the night sky, stars glistening.

“I don’t want to, I don’t want to.”

“May we be of help?” Sansa questioned kindly.

Landy Tanda seemed to be ashamed of her daughter’s demeanor. “No, my lady, Your Highness, but we thank you kindly. You must forgive my daughter, she has not been well.

“Please, please, I don’t want to.”

Sansa walked to Lollys and spoke to her as gently as anyone could. “We’ll all be thrice protected inside, and there’s to be food and drink and song as well.”

Lollys gaped at Sansa, her mouth wide open, her once bright brown eyes, now dull and wet with tears. “I don’t want to.”

“You have to,” her sister Falyse said “and that is the end of it. Shae, help me.”

The maid and the young lady each took an elbow and manhandled her across the bridge, with Y/n, Sansa, Miza, and their mother following.

“She’s been sick,” Lady Tanda excused.

Everyone had heard the rumors. About what happened when the mob broke out. Lollys had been separated. And rumors started that she had fallen pregnant with one of the rapists child.

She felt awful for the poor girl. After all, they were going through the same thing. Y/n could do nothing but feel pity. She’d never find the men who committed the crime and bring them to justice. It was impossible with all the men that were littered around the city.

The ballroom was graceful, but never grand. Y/n had been given her dance lessons here. She’d learned every step, every twist and curtsey in this room. She even learned how to dance with a partner. During those dancing lessons it was often her uncle Jaime or Joffrey who were brought in to help her learn.

She’d always prefered Jaime’s help. He was kinder to her than Joffrey, picking her back up gently whenever she fell. Taking her for snacks despite the dancing teacher’s wishes.

Y/n came to the conclusion that she preferred Uncle Jaime for teaching her the ways of sword and dance. She preferred Renly for good fun, and light heartedness. Tight hugs before a handmaiden took her to her room for sleep, and kisses on the top of her head when he went places far beyond King’s Landing.

She missed Renly. And the books he’d gift her just for the fun of it. She had a feeling that they were each other’s best friends. Like two little kids who got into trouble when unsupervised.

He cleaned up the mess she made by accident, and when he couldn’t, he would take the blame for her, despite her begging him not to.

He was the first person to bring her request to learn how to fight to Robert. And even though Robert had scoffed at the very idea of it, Renly, Cersei and Jaime all wore him down eventually, convincing him to allow her to learn.

Had Renly known about her child? If he was the one attacking right now, would he spare her, Luci, Miza and Sansa?

She hoped he would. But war did cruel things to the minds of men, and the cruel minds of men did cruel things to the bodies of girls and women.

Y/n looked to Sansa, watching he stare at Cersei walking in. Clad in a white linen with dagged sleeves lined with gold. To anyone else, she’d appear innocent. But she and Sansa knew the truth. After Y/n had tried to help hide the bloodied sheets from maids who caught them trying to dispose of them, Cersei had called them into her chambers, and she gave a long conversation to them both.

It was Y/n’s fear that Cersei would find out. That her mother would arrange for her to marry Joffrey as soon as she could. Y/n couldn’t understand how any parent could do such a thing. Marry their daughter off, knowing that their husband was going to take them, possibly against their will on their wedding night.

“Is your red flower still blooming?”

“Yes.” Sansa answered

“How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here.” Y/n’s mother signaled for the first course to be served.

“Why is Ser Ilyn here?” Sansa burted, catching Y/n’s attention as she took her seat next to her mother, setting Luci in her lap while Miza tried to calm Lollys down.

Y/n knew why he was here. If the Red Keep fell, and Stannis made his way in, he wouldn’t take them alive.

“To deal with treason, and to defend us if need be. He was a knight before he was a headsman.” Cersei took her spoon and dramatically pointed it out to the end of the hall, where the two tall wooden doors had been closed and barred after they had come in. “When the axes smash down those doors, you may be glad of him.”

Sansa looked at Cersei quizzically “Won’t your guards protect us?”

““And who will protect us from my guards? Loyal sellswords are rare as virgin whores. If the battle is lost my guards will trip on those crimson cloaks in their haste to rip them off. They’ll steal what they can and flee, along with the serving men, washer women, and stableboys, all out to save their own worthless hides. Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn’t, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there’s such a dearth of good sacking songs.”

“True knights would never harm women and children.” Sansa’s words were empty, while she said it with true conviction, Y/n could see the hollowness behind them.

“True knights.” Y/n’s mother scoffed. “No doubt you’re right. So why don’t you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I’m sure it won’t be very long now.”

Y/n looked up at her mother, a hating look on her face. How had she, Tommen and Myrcella all come from her wicked womb? One that conceived such a wicked child such as Joffrey?

Y/n didn’t know the answer to her own question. All she knew, was that Joffrey had to have taken all of the wickedness from their mother that Y/n left behind. And that when he took it, he left none for Myrcella or Tommen. Leaving them to be the sweetest of the bunch. Like the two reddest, fattest, and sweetest strawberries on the bush, next to a small white, bitter strawberry, and a single one that was a very light pink.


	13. Chapter 13

Y/n’s blood was running cod who Lancel told her mother that the battle was lost. Her grip on Lucia’s fussing form tightened. She watched as Cersei argued with Lancel about bringing Joffrey back to Maegor’s Holdfast.

Don’t bring him in here, you fool. He’ll die no matter what we do. The battle is lost.

Y/n gasped when Cersei shoved Lancel away, right into his wound, before storming out of the room. She rushed to her second cousin’s side, helping him up and into what had been her seat,

“Don’t be afraid,” Sansa told the women and children who had stayed in the ballroom, instead of going to the sept. “The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There’s thick walls, the moat, the spikes …”

“What’s happened?” demanded a woman.

“What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?”

Women kept asking about their loved ones. Brothers, fathers and sons, but Sansa rose her hands for silence.Sansa raised her hands for quiet.

“Joffrey’s come back to the castle. He’s not hurt. They’re still fighting, that’s all I know, they’re fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon.”

It was a lie, they both knew it. To think that Y/n had been given the loving nickname of ‘little lion’ only to be abandoned in the ballroom with women she barely knew, with her two friends and a distant cousin.

“Moon Boy, make us laugh.” Sansa told the boy. He did, but it was nervous laughter. Eventually Sansa turned to them both, walking over, hearing the nonsense he was speaking. “Help him.” Sansa commanded two serving men. One just looked at them before running, many others left as well, leaving only one serving man left.

“Take him to Maester Frenken.” Sansa told him.

Y/n looked up to the ceiling and let loose a small, quiet prayer, before standing and walking to Miza, kissing her cheek, “Stay here, protect them, I must do something, I love you, Miza.” Y/n gave the older woman a sad smile, and she reciprocated it.

“May the gods bless you, princess.”

Y/n then looked to Sansa and walked to her, pulling her into a nervous hug. “You are Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Don’t let fear consume you.” She told her quietly, before pulling away, a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Stay brave, Sansa.”

Y/n went to her bedchambers, setting Lucia’s tired form in her bassinet, letting her find a comforting sleep.

The fireplace had a low glow from the fire that had been burning before they had gone to the ballroom. SHe rushed to the window, pulling the heavy drapes back, only to have her breath hitch in her throat. Looking out, ships were burning in the Blackwater, People were being slaughtered in battle by each other. Stannis’s men, going against each other.

Stepping back she turned to Lucia’s bassinet, she hadn’t fallen asleep, instead she had gone to whimpering out of fear. She could sense the chaos just outside their room.

Y/n scooped her from the cushions, holding her tightly, “Luci, you are so loved. So very loved. By me, your grandmother, Sansa, Miza, Tommen and Myrcella. We all adore you. Our little direpup of the red keep. Ned would have smothered you in love.” Y/n thought outloud, going to lay in her bed, with Lucia in her arms,

Y/n dug into her pocket, pulling a vial of poison from her pocket, holding it in her hand. Waiting for any sign that someone would barge into her room, who wasn’t Joffrey, or someone she trusted.

She’d stolen it from Pycelle’s store. Taking the most noticeable poison from his shelves. If it all went wrong, then Y//n could give it to Lucia, and then herself. No pain, no begging the gods to take them both as peacefully as they could. Not letting Lucia choke on nothing, and not letting her heart painfully give out.

They laid like that, the sun eventually peaking through the glass of her window, and through the stained glass door that lead to her ledge.

Y/n watched Lucia fall asleep, her dark grey eyes falling closed, with her tan, freckled hands holding onto the sleeve of Y/n’s dress. Her small head, covered in dark brown curls, in the palm of Y/n’s hand as her pale thumb rubbed a curved line, back and forth, gently across Luci’s tiny cheek.

But something stirred outside of the door. The sound of soldiers, and yelling, but familiar yelling. Gently pulling away from the bed, she placed Luci back into her bassinet, she opened her door, looking down the hall to see Joffrey yelling.

Had the battle not been lost?

She stepped out from her room, standing by the opened archway.

Joffrey finished a demand, before he turned and saw her. Their eyes met, and both of them let out sighs of relief.

“Joffrey.” She sighed softly, closing the door behind her as she ran down the damp stone hall, into his open arms.

She hit him with such an impact that he was forced to turn his body around to steady himself. “I thought you’d run.” He admitted in a shaky tone.

She hated to admit it, “I could never run from you Joff.”

She couldn’t run, and she couldn’t hide, but she knew damn well, she could kill.

“I have to tell you something,” She whispered to him, pulling away from the warm embrace, his hands on her hips and hers on his forearms. “I’m with child.”

His face lit up, his lips spread to his ears, and his eyes appeared to water, and turn red. “A child?” He questioned instantly, his grip becoming firm, but not rough, or tight.

“A child. Joffrey, you’re going to be a father.” She said the last part as quietly as she could.”

He pulled her back into a hug, a sincere kiss being left on her cheek.

May our child not suffer the life of having you as a father.


End file.
